






^ilrvai’y 0 ( 


y > ryA f . — /i^. 


UNITP]D STATES OF AMERICA. 







• 1 


V i 


r ^ 




4 




• 1 . 


y V 
« • - 


I # i • •‘v** 

' -i. • \»> *• 


** - 






I 




#•4 


• ^ 


\ --v; 


I « 




Ia 





*: 


» ' 



k'!, ■::fy^ 










1^ • 


>. 


> « 


r • 





: • « 


N’H 




« f 









is \ 


'Si:' 






^ •’iy ' ^ ' 

^ ^ •• •* f%!r^ 


' • . '^ <1 • • 




t •; A 






* 


^ > 




i/. 

c •* . •'^ 


• •' •* w 

ki ' 



t . 


^ i 




" • 




iV . ‘ . >V ^ 

■ ■V: -‘'T-'i 


. » 


^ . * 


«» • ' 


<i 


. ^ V. 


Mi’.; ■.’ei;- ^ 



r?) 1 


rc: . •» 



4 





I 


• > 


> 


« 


1 


« 


r 


I 


% 


I 



, K 




J 

I 




♦ 


✓ V 


I 




I*-.:.'. 






w VV-. 


. i 





> • 


« I 



u. 


\ 


*r 


t 


« 







> 













i 








I 


5 


» 1 



* 




I 


I 


I 


I 


% 


* 


» 


I 

I. ‘4 

• t. ■* ' 


»v 

t 


I 



t 


4 


/ 



» 


I 


t 


< 





> 

f 

» 



1 


, ? 



4 


» 






\ 


» 


> ' > . * 




« 


t 


» 




• * 


1 


li 





I 



iijtii 


Jorgibfness.— JFrontfsptfCf. 



"She looks very weary— invite her in.” 


p. 4!r. 




FORGIVENESS; 

r 


OR, 


THE STORY OF MARC4ARET LISLE 


'i 5 


FovifiTe. and ye shall be forglren. — L uks ST, 


\/\/XJUO 


Sa of 

“AONES MORTON’S TRIAL,” “ MXRION AND JESSIE,” 

“twenty-five cents,” etc,, etc. 



AMERICAN SUNDAY-SCHOOL UNION, 
No. 1122 Chestnut Street. 


NEW YORK: 

Nos. 8 A 10 Bidee House, Astor Peace, 




Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1870, by the 
AMERICAN SUNDAY-SCHOOL UNION, 

In the Office of the Librarian of Congress^ at Waehinglon. 

^ ^ 


n~Z73Z^ 


FORGIVENESS; 


OR, 


THE STORY OP MARGARET LISLE. 


CHAPTER I. 



LARGE and handsome dwelling- 


house, in the centre of well laid-out 
grounds, stood on the main street of Strat- 
ford, one o? the prettiest villages in Con- 
necticut. It was occupied by the family 
of Mr, Asaph Grant, a retired manufacturer, 
who was reputed to be wealthy, as he was 
knov/n to be highly respectable and honour- 


able. 


One pleasant June morning, Mrs. Grant 


6 


forgiveisEsb; or, 


and her two eldest daughters were sitting 
together at their sewing, in a room shaded 
from the sun by a vine-covered verandah, 
all greatly interested in conversation ; the. 
subject of which was an entertainment in 
that secluded village, promised for the fol- 
lowing evening, at the Town Hall, — a veri- 
table concert, given by well-known musi- 
cians ; nothing cheap or ordinary, but a 
really choice collection of musical talent. 

“ Oh !” said Mary, the eldest, “ I can 
hardly believe it yet, mamma: a concert! 
only think, — here in this little straight- 
laced village of Stratford 1 It seems too 
good to be true 1” ^ 

“ How we’re ever to wait till to-morrow 
night,” said Haney, jumping up and down 
in her chair, “ is more than I can tell 1” 
“You had better try to calm your joy- 
ful anticipation, girls,” said their mother. 
“You will gain nothing by such wonder- 


THE STORY OF MARGARET LISLE. 7 

ful ideas of v/hat concerts are, and you 
may lose a great deal of pleasure.” 

“How can we lose pleasure, mamma? 
We shall have the concert all the same, 
whether we look forward to it eagerly or 
not.’’ 

“ That is true, Nancy ; but you may 
raise your expectations so high, that when 
the reality comes, you may find it far be- 
low those expectations.” 

“Oh, mamma,” exclaimed Nancy, “ex- 
cuse me ; but that is such an old saying ! 
It is so much people’s way to throw wet 
blankets over pleasant prospects.” 

“You are too young, yet, to know how 
very (rften things turn out less agreeably 
than they were expected to, Nancy. We 
will hope that no disappointment will fol-. 
low our plans for to-morrow evening how- 
ever.” 

“I cannot imagine any thing to prevent 


8 


forgiveness; or, 


us from having a splendid tiine,” said 
Mary. “ Even if it should rain, I suppose 
we could have the carriage, mamma?” 

“Yes,” said her sister ; “ and then, you 
know, we could call round for the Lea- 
vitts, and all go together. I think I 
would like it to rain, on that account.” 

“We shall meet the Leavitts there, 
ISTancy, and the Adamses, and all the rest 
of our class; unless old Mr. Carson objects 
to Mattie’s going into so much gayety : 
you know he’s pretty strict.” 

“ Mamma,” said Mary, after a little 
pause in her talk, “ what are you going to 
do about asking Cousin Margaret to join 
us?” 

“Sure enough! ’ exclaimed Yancy, with a 
frown on her brow ; “ there’s trouble already . 
For once, I was favoured to forget the 
existence of that provoking member of our 
family.” 


THE STORY OF MARGARET LISLE. 9 

“ I suppose you mean,” said her sister, 
‘‘you forgot the provoking existence of 
that member of our family ; for she is noi 
provoking herself: but, anyhow, her ex- 
istence can never be long forgotten : a poor 
relation is always in the way.” 

“Margaret will not expect to be in- 
cluded in our party to-morrow night,” said 
Mrs. Grant, coldly. “lam not accustomed 
to taking her with me into public.” 

“ Besides, mamma,” said the prudent 
Mary, “ you could hardly leave home your- 
self, and the younger children all to be put 
to sleep, unless she was left in the house.” 

“ Certainly ; I shall not take her,” said 
Mrs. Grant. 

“ That question being settled, then,” 
said Nancy. “ I am much relieved, and 
the way is clear before us. I’m sorry 
father is not at home to escort us : he 
lopks so dignified and handsome, even 


10 


FOIlGIVEi^ESS ; OR, 


when he is walking np the middle aisle in 
church, that I should be very proud of 
him in the midst of a bright room full of 
well dressed people, such as this music 
is going to bring together. By the way» 
mamma, what dresses had Mary and I 
better wear, do you think?’’ 

“ White, of course, Nancy,” said her 
sister, with an air of knowing a good deal 
about the matter. 

“ Remember, you are only well-grown 
school-girls,” said Mrs. Grant. “Your 
father s position in the village is so well 
assured, that you can afford to dress with 
simplicity, provided your clothing is not 
cheap ; and only those can venture on that 
who have made their way in the world 
successfully. You are ‘Mr. Grant’s daugh- 
ters,’ no matter how plainly you may be 
dressed.” 

(There was no allusion made to the duty 


THE STOEY OF MAKGARET LISLE. 11 

of acting in a way worthy of the daughters 
of so honourable a man.) 

“ Yes ; I know we ought not to come 
out like the Miss Fowlers, in rustling silks, 
as if we were full-grown young ladies, 
mamma. We can afford to wait a couple 
of years for the pleasure of taking them 
off and out-dressing them ; but, still, 
mamma, white is so very common and so 
easy to be had !” continued Nancy. 

“You always wear fine material, my 
dear,” said her mother; “nobody shall 
say you looked no better dressed than the 
factory girls, who will doubtless be there 
in full costume of cheap finery, dazzling 
to look at, but very flimsy when ex- 
amined.” 

“Well,” said Nancy, “if there is no other 
dress than white muslin to be permitted, 
we must have some alterations made in 
those we have, and some fresh trimmings.” 


12 


forgiveness; or, 


“ Then go and ask Margaret to come to 
me, Nancy ; we shall have no time to 
lose,’’ said Mrs. Grant. 

In a few minutes, Margaret Lisle entered 
the room, to receive her directions about 
altering the dresses. She was a slight, 
rather delicate-looking, girl of eighteen, 
with a clear, white skin, dark hair, and 
large hazel eyes. The prevailing expres- 
sion of her face, when in repose, was very 
sad; yet the soft eyes and expressive 
mouth could smile together very sweetly 
in answer to a kind word or look from 
some one of her friends among the younger 
children. 

In the course of conversation, Margaret 
could not but discover what was in pros- 
pect for the following evening, and why 
the dresses were to be made ready as 
rapidly as possible, and trimmed, with pink 
and blue respectively, in the most tasteful 


THE STORY OF MARGARET LISLE. 13 


manner that she could devise ; — and her 
taste was an acknowledged gift. 

The poor girl, notwithstanding her de- 
pendent position in her relative’s family, — 
which she was made by all excepting Mr. 
Grant, so continually to feel, as almost to 
take away any separate identity of her 
own. — had yet some instinctive talents and 
tastes hidden beneath her quiet exterior, 
of which she was only now and then made 
conscious. 

An intense love of music was one of 
these : it was rarely gratified ; never, in- 
deed, except in church on Sundays, and 
occasionally when a visitor came to the 
house, who would open the piano and play 
more or less skilfully. 

In regard to another taste (for her love 
of music was more the result of a decided 
talent) — her great love of flowers, — its in- 
dulgence was not so limited, because Mrs. 

2 


14 


FORGIVEKESS; OB, 


Grant willingly deputed to her the task 
of adorning the parlours with the rich pro- 
fusion of flowers from the garden and 
green-house summer and winter. 

Margaret felt the fragrant, beautiful 
blossoms to be her friends, (nature is libe- 
ral in compensating those who love her, 
for the neglect of human associates;) and 
she enjoyed the distinction of being per- 
mitted to arrange them in their various 
crystal vases. 

During the discussion concerning the 
dresses, sundry remarks were incidentally 
made with reference to the pieces of music 
that were to be performed the next even- 
ing : among the selections were carelessly 
named things that poor Margaret knew by 
ear, and loved to sing to herself when alone 
in her distant chamber, busy over the nee- 
dle-work for the family. To think that 
these lovely airs should be performed with 


THE STOEY OF MAEGARET LISLE. 15 

a full orchestra, that accomplished and 
celebrated singers should thrill the audi- 
ence with their exquisite notes, and she 
not there to enjoy one single breath of the 
melody ! Several times she fancied Mrs. 
Grant was about to speak of her accompa- 
nying them as a matter of course; yet the 
words came not. The directions being at 
last concluded, and the dresses given into 
her hand to complete, she left the room 
to go to her own solitary chamber. 

Her only solace while sewing steadily 
for the rest of the day was in singing the 
few songs she had learned, and, more fre- 
quently, the hymns that were her favour- 
ites in church. Every time one of the 
little children came rushing into her room, 
for one service or another, her heart beat 
quickly with the hope that a message was 
coining from Mrs. Grant for her to prepare 


16 


forgiveness; or, 


her own dress for attending the concert ; 
but no such message came. 

On the morning of the following day, 
Margaret continued closely occupied with 
her work, generally alone; but sometimes 
one of the xgirls would come dancing in to 
notice her progress with the dresses, taking 
the opportunity, at the same time, of ex- 
pressing her excited hopes of the evening’s 
enjoyment. Not that the music occupied 
a prominent position in the prospect : hap- 
pily for Margaret, there was no dilating 
upon that : she could scarcely have endured 
the wide difference in feeling and opin- 
ion between them on the subject of the 
particular pieces that were to be performed. 
Bat on such topics as dress, gay associ- 
ates, pi’opaenading, (fee., there was plenty 
to be said, and all this passed by Margaret 
like the idle wind. 

By five o’clock in the afternoon. Mar- 


THE STORY OF MARGARET LISLE. 17 


garet’s last hope of being admitted to so 
refined a source of enjoyment was utterly 
extinguished. Mrs. Grant, on her way to 
her own dressing-room, stopped her in the 
passage, as she returned from depositing 
the tastefully finished dresses on the girl’s 
bed, to say a few words to her. 

“We shall take an early cup of tea, to- 
night, Margaret, and when we return 
have a little supper. The cook says she 
is quite willing to stay in to-night and let 
the other servants have the chance of go- 
ing to the concert. She has promised to 
take care of the baby, if you will take 
Jane’s place for this once in putting the 
other children to bed. Give them their 
tea when you have your own, if you please, 
and then take them up-stairs : my mind 
will be quite easy while I am gone, for I 
have every confidence in Letty, and I 
know the baby will be good with her. If 

B 2* 


18 


FOEGIVENESS; OR, 


you get the children quiet in good time, 
you can go on with that embroidery for 
Nancy ; good-night.” 

Mrs. Grant was so thoroughly impressed 
with her own exceeding liberality in pro- 
viding this poor orphan girl with the 
means of sustaining life, viz. : by keep- 
ing her clothed and fed, that the various 
little acts, words, and tones of kindness 
and sympathy common among relatives 
seemed to her utterly superfluous. “She 
gave her a home : what more could she 
do ?” No one could have made h^ under- 
stand that the word “ home” meant any 
thing more than a house for shelter, with 
liberty to go in and out at pleasure : she 
would not have called a prison a home; 
yet she really knew of few other distinc- 
tions. 

Ordinarily kind to .her children, and 


THE STORY OF MARGARET LISLE. 19 

proud of her husband, she yet found no 
place in her heart for the spiritual or naen- 
tal claims of this young relative of Mr. 
Grant’s, to whom he had offered the pro- 
tection of his house. 


20 


forgiveness; or. 


CHAPTER II. 


LL things had gone smoothly and 



combined favourably, when the hour 
for the great enjoyment at length arrived. 
Parting directions were given to Letty, 
who was to be temporary child's-nurse : 
she was to prepare the refreshment against 
their return before going up-stairs, and 
after that she was to keep the baby in the 
nursery until they came back. The other 
children were bidden to go quietly to bed 
after supper. At length, the gay party, 
increased by several of their young friends 
who had called to accompany them, took 
their departure amidst much confusion of 
laughing and loud talking ; and Margaret 


THE STORY OF MARGARET LISLE. 21 

found relief in the instant quietness that 
fell upon the house : for she had been 
called in all directions. Concerts, or gay 
assemblages of any sort, she said to herself, 
were so infrequent in the village, that 
perhaps it was no wonder there should be 
such an excitement over this. Even if she 
had been disposed to sit down and dwell 
upon her grievances, — one of which just 
now was the denial of this great plea- 
sure, while those who scarcely cared in the 
least for music were eager and able to go, — 
she would not have found much opportu- 
nity for doing it. The three children who 
were left in her charge gave her much 
trouble this evening ; feeling especially 
free from restraint after the rest of the 
family had gone away. A long time 
elapsed before they could be reduced to 
any sort of order; and not then, until Mar- 
garet had taxed her memory and her in- 


22 


forgiveness; or, 


vention in telling them one story after 
another, concluding by indulging their 
wishes for singing. Her sweet voice was 
appreciated by the children ; they listened 
quietly to favourite nursery songs and 
soothing hymns, until at length, one after 
another, they dropped asleep. 

Little Henry^ who was not yet five 
years old, was laid in his crib in the nurs- 
ery. Leaving him there while Letty still 
remained in the room in charge of the 
baby, Margaret at length wearily sought 
her own chaihber, and, tired though she 
was, spent half an hour over the “embroid- 
ery for Haney,” which Mrs. Grant, in all 
her hurry, had not forgotten to appoint for 
her evening’s work. After that came her 
accustomed Scripture reading, and her con- 
soling time of prayer, — the happiest period 
of the day to the lonely orphan, and then 
she resigned herself to sleep ; haunted by 


THE STORY OF MARGARET LISLE. 23 

no self-reproach for having, knowingly, 
neglected any of her appointed duties. 

How long she had slept she could not 
tell, when she was aroused by light in her 
room and loud voices, Mrs. Grant’s above 
all. Some one called to her to “ get up 
quickly! the house was on fire 1” As soon 
as she had thrown on some clothing, she 
found that the chief excitement was in the 
region of the nursery. Efforts were being 
made to rescue the children who had been 
sleeping there. Margaret, calmed by 
danger, forced her way through smoke and 
burning furniture in time to seize little 
Henry, whose crib had already caught 
fire. The others had been taken out. 
Streams of water from the garden-hose 
were brought to bear upon the fire, and 
in a short time it was extinguished, with 
no loss of life ; but the nursery furniture 


24 


FORGIVEN? ess; or, 


was quite destroyed, and tbe room itself 
rendered uninhabitable. 

In the midst of all the uproar, Margaret 
had been bewildered by the sight of Mrs. 
Grant and her daughters rushing in all 
directions, utterly useless, — both with their 
evening dresses still on. At length the truth 
began to make itself known to her mind : 
the nursery must have been found burning 
when the family returned from their even- 
ing’s entertainment; yet how could that 
be, when she had left Letty there in charge 
of the baby when she herself had, quite 
late, retired to her own room ? Exerting 
herself to the utmost to quiet the fright- 
ened children, there seemed no time for 
speculation as to the origin of the fire, 
until all danger was at an end. 

By the dawn of day, every vestige of 
the fire had disappeared, and the excited 
mother and daughters retired to their 


THE STORY 0 ¥ MARGARET LISLE. 25 

rooms for a little rest, Mrs. Grant observ- 
ing to Mary that she need never look for- 
ward again to a quiet evening spent away 
from home, after this dreadful termination 
to their harmless pleasure. Nobody was 
to be trusted with the charge of a person’s 
family but the parents themselves. 

In an undertone, Mary replied, — 

“ When this thing comes to be looked 
into, mamma, you will find who it is that 
cannot be trusted.” 

She hoped by this early insinuation to 
bring trouble and dismissal from the house 
on poor Margaret; and the poison did its 
work effectually. 

Besides the absence of all preparations 
for the expected “ little supper” in the 
dinincr-room, which no one^had ever men- 
tioned, it had occurred to Mrs. Grant that 
Lctty was curiously invisible. She sup- 
posed her to be occupied in some other 

3 


26 


forgiveness; or, 


apartment, trying to carry away to a place 
of safety articles of silver and other valu- 
ables. 

In the morning, however, it came out 
that, when the other servants had at last 
reached their bed-rooms, which were over 
the kitchen in an outside building, they 
found Letty sound asleep, ignorant of all 
that had occurred ; neither could they suc- 
ceed in waking her without more trouble 
than they cared to take. Tiiis fact was 
reported to Mrs. Grant without note or 
comment. 


THE STORY OF MARGARET LISLE. 27 


CHAPTER III. 

A FTER a late breakfast on the follow- 
ing morning, Mrs. Grant, feeling 
herself invested with great responsibility, 
in the absence of her husband, began her 
system of investigation concerning the 
origin of the fire, which might have been 
a very serious matter if she had not re- 
turned from the concert just when she did. 
Her mind was troubled because she had 
taken the coachman to drive them to the 
concert : if he had been left at home, 
nothing would have gone wrong. 

First, of course, Margaret was summoned 
to give an account of her doings from the 
moment Mrs. Grant had left the house. 
The simple story was soon told, and with- 


28 ' 


forgiveness; ok, 


out any confusion : the care of the three 
small children, quieting their loud playful- 
ness by telling them stories and singing 
to them, getting them finally to their beds, 
and working in her own room for half an 
hour at the embroidery (her progress in 
which was shown to Mrs. Grant in proof of 
her assertion); and at last retiring to her 
bed. She had left Letty in the nursery 
about half-past eight o’clock, still engaged 
with the baby, who seemed to be more 
wakeful and restless than usual. 

When Mrs. Grant impatiently demanded 
why she had not stayed in the nursery 
herself until the baby was asleep? Mar- 
garet reminded her that she had given her 
no instructions about the baby, who was 
left exclusively in Letty’s charge. 

Mrs. Grant, in her heart, knew that this 
was the truth ; but she desired to fix the 
blame of the fire upon Margaret ; and this 


THE STORY OF MARGARET LISLE. 29 

she could not do, if she admitted the story 
the poor girl related of herself. 

Letty was next summoned, — a middle- 
aged woman of no very attractive appear- 
ance, who had occupied her present posi- 
tion some six months. Her story dif- 
fered widely from that of Margaret ; mak- 
ing it appear that “ the baby — bless its 
little heart ! — had been just as good as it 
could be, and went to sleep without a bit 
o’ trouble by eight o’clock : she was sure 
not a minute later ; and then she thought 
— as Miss Margaret was still busy in the 
nursery with the other children, who were 
uncommonly wild and frisky about going to 
bed, — she had better slip out of the room 
so as they might get quiet sooner, and from 
that minute, when she went down-stairs, 
she was so busy, what with locking up the 
house, and setting the sponge for her bread, 
and one thing and another, that she never 

3 * 


30 


forgiveness; or, 


once thought about the supper Mrs. Grant 
had told her to have ready ; but went off 
to her bed, and slept so sound she never 
so much as heard the ladies when they let 
themselves into the house.” 

After this voluble statement — during 
which several saints and the “Blessed Vir- 
gin” were called to attest her truthfulness, 
— what more could be said? According 
to her account, she had clearly not been 
the last one in the nursery before the fire 
was discovered. 

“ It was a pity,” she said, consolingly, 
“ for poor Miss Margaret ; it might just as 
easy have happened to herself as not, if she 
had been the last one up in the nursery ; 
for she supposed, poor young thing 1 she 
had gone and left the candle standing too 
near the window, and the draught had 
flared the candle a little ; for now she re- 
membered there came up a lively, fresh 


THE STORY OF MARGARET LISLE. 31 

breeze when the moon rose, and one of the 
curtains had kind o’ blowed towards the 
flame ; and so the fire got to burning from 
one thing to another without making a bit 
of crackling or hissing, after she had gone 
to bed in her own room. But if she’d a 
known that Miss Margaret would be leav- 
ing them children all alone by theirselves, 
poor innocents 1 why, she wmuld never 
have gone down-stairs ; not she ! Not if 
there never had been another setting of 
bread in that house: for human beings 
was of more importance than loaves of 
bread, she reckoned.” 

During this eager and rapid defence by 
the cook, poor Margaret grew paler and 
paler, until at length she nearly fainted ; 
which, of course, was construed as evidence 
of her guilt. She saw there was no hope 
for her ; no evidence could possibly be 
brought that she had spoken the truth ; 


32 


forgiveness; or, 


and her only friend, Mr. Grant, he who 
would have believed her word, was far 
away. Her involuntary exclamations of 
“ Oh, how can you say that?” and “Letty, 
you know that is not true,” were frowned 
down by Mrs. Grant, who was predisposed 
to condemn Margaret, that she might justify 
herself ta her husband in refusing any 
longer to give a home to his young rela- 
tive, — a “distant relative anyhow,” as she 
said to herself. Even the fact of her baby’s 
continuing to sleep in the most profound 
manner ail through the morning, failed 
to direct her suspicions of deceitfulness 
towards Letty. It never came into her 
imagination that the hypocritical servant had 
administered a strong opiate to the infant 
as soon as Margaret had left the room, 
after performing her part of the duties dele- 
gated by Mrs. Grant to both of them. 
Heither was it miraculously revealed to 


THE STOKY OF MARGARET LISLE. 33 

her that, the baby once safely disposed of, 
Letty had made her way promptly to the 
store-room, where a certain demijohn had 
offered its temptations more than once 
before not in vain. A careless and hur- 
ried movement in setting down the candle- 
stick again had caused it to fall down the 
moment the jarring of closing the shutters 
down-stairs was felt in the nursery. Of 
this fact, Letty remained ignorant, having 
immediately sought her bed. After she 
had become stupefied, if not actually asleep, 
the fire had slowly made its way from the 
carpet to the chairs, and then to the cur- 
tains, until the cribs and bed were almost 
in flames, as Mrs. Grant with her night- 
latch key let herself into the house. 

Margaret was severely blamed for going 
to her room at all. She ought to have 
been sitting up, either in the nursery or 
the parlour, waiting until the family came 


34 


FORGIVENESS ; OR, 


home. It was in vain for the poor girl to 
plead that no such command had been 
given her; that, on the contrary, Letty 
had been the last to receive directions, and 
had been put in charge of the baby, which 
would, of course keep her in the nursery 
until she was relieved either by Mrs. 
Grant or the child’s-nurse : all went for 
nothing ; and Mrs. Grant, seeing that her 
daughters would severely blame her if she 
allowed this opportunity for dismissing 
“the poor relation” to pass unimproved, 
finally pronounced the sentence of the 
young girl’s banishment in cold and mea- 
sured terms. 

“ This house could no longer be the 
home of one who had so ungratefully 
returned the kindness which had given 
her shelter there for more than five years, 
— ever since the death of her mother.” 

At that cruel reminder of her irrepara- 


THE STORY OF MARGARET LISLE. 35 

ble loss, and at such a time, poor Marga- 
ret could command herself no longer than to 
ask Where am I to go?” then, bitterly 
sobbing, she sank into a seat. 

“You are at liberty to go wherever you 
choose,” was the heartless answer of the 
incensed woman. “You know your na- 
tive town ; you can go back there, and let 
your mother’s old friends know how you 
have returned our kindness in keeping you 
from the poor-house. Mr. Grant would 
give you some money to take you there, I 
suppose, if he was at home, since you be- 
long to his side of the house. I never 
owned you for any relation of mine ; so 
you can take these five dollars as a present 
from him ; not from me, mind ; for I wash 
my hands of you ; only I shall never for- 
get that you did all you knew how to 
burn my children up in their beds when I 
trusted them to you for one evening. Now 


36 


FORGIVENESS ; OR, 


I’ll bid you good-morning, and you can 
pack up your things at once.” 

The money was laid on the table, and 
left there. A few minutes later, Marga- 
ret was weeping convulsively in her own 
chamber. At length she wiped away her 
tears, and in broken sentences, well under- 
stood, however, by the One to whom they 
were addressed, she implored merciful help 
and guidance on her unknown future way.. 
After that, being very desirous of escaping 
quickly from this scene of wretchedness, 
she busied herself in selecting from her 
wardrobe the plainest and most serviceable 
articles of clothing : to these she felt her- 
self entitled in return for services rendered; 
but such things as had occasionally been 
given to her as presents at Christmas or 
New Year were resolutely left behind in 
her drawers. 

Among th'e children ! Henry had been 


THE STOBY OF MABGABET LISLE. 37 

her darling. She could not deny herself 
the comfort of carrying with her a photo- 
graph of his sweet face, which he had him- 
self given her on his last birthday. The 
coachman, who was a kind-hearted col- 
oured man, and had lived in the family 
for many years, retained by the reverence 
he felt for Mr. Grant, behaved with much 
respectful kindness to Margaret, when he 
found how terribly the consequences of the 
fire had affected her destiny. 

He begged her to let him drive her in 
the carriage to the railroad station, some 
two miles away ; but Margaret could not 
consent to put herself inside the carriage be- 
longing to Mrs. Grant, after the unjust 
charges that had been brought against her. 
The old man then suggested taking the 
market wagon, or even the cart, any thing, 
rather than that she should walk, carrying 
her valise in her hand. 


4 


38 


forgiveness; or, 


“ Why, Miss Margaret,’' he said, “what 
rights have you to be seen a tramping 
along the turnpike road, hold of a travel- 
ling bag, when you ain’t done nothing out 
of the way, whatsomever? Ah, don’t tell 
me ! just you wait a bit. Miss Margaret, 
and you, and me, and all of ’em ’ll see who 
it was that was the real ’cendiary. Yes, 
old David’s not that blind : the time ’ll 
come ; the good Lord’s own time ; as 
you’ve many a time read to me. Miss Mar- 
garet, out of the blessed book, when the 
enemy’s going to be confounded, and the 
ways of the righteous will be made plain. 
You set that nussery afire ? Hi ! Miss 
Margaret, don’t tell me nothin’ !” 

Eough and unpolished as were the poor 
old man’s words, his sympathy touched 
Margaret to the heart. She could only 
take his hard hand in hers, and, bidding 
him good-by, assure him she would never 


THE STORY OF MARGARET LISLE. 39 


forget his good intentions towards her in 
this most unhappy hour. She could not 
accept his offered assistance; but he would 
see after awhile that it was better for her to 
have gone alone. She intrusted him with 
a message of love to Mr. Grant, to be given 
when his master was alone, not with his 
hxmily. 

“ Well, Miss Margaret, if you will not 
let me do any thing to help you, I’ll bid 
you farewell ; but you’ll not forget the old. 
coloured man when you’re asking for the 
good Lord’s mercies for yourself?” 

“No, I never will, David,” Margaret 
replied. “I can never forget you; and I 
hope you will remember to pray for me. 
I am very lonely.” 

True religion can create a bond of en- 
dearing sympathy, let the difference in 
colour, position, or age be what it may. 
This little interview with David gave Mar- 


40 


forgiveness; or, 


garet a sense of unseen support : bis simple 
faith reminded her to cast, still more en- 
tirely, her cares and anxieties on the Father 
who knew every thing that could befall her, 
and who would not suffer her burdens to 
become heavier than, with his help, she 
could bear. 

Once at the end of the avenue, Mar- 
garet supposed she had separated herself 
and her lot in life irrevocably from the 
family of Mr. Grant; but the sound of 
children’s voices admonished her that one 
more ordeal remained to be passed through. 
Just on the side of the avenue, in an en- 
closed field, all three of the younger chil- 
dren, sitting on the grass, were playing 
happily together, making chains of daisies 
and wreaths of other flowers, as bright and 
joyous as children could be in the lovely 
June morning. For a moment, Margaret 
shuddered to think how fearful a fate might 


THE STORY OF MARGARET LISLE. 41 

have been theirs, if the fire of last night had 
not been discovered just when it was ! The 
bare idea of these lovely innocent children 
lying stretched out in the chamber dis- 
figured and burned to death, instead of 
being here, full of health and bright merri- 
ment, was almost overpowering. Before 
she could divert her thoughts from so pain- 
ful a scene, the little ones had discovered 
her approach : down went flowers, and 
dolls, and little carts, while they all ran 
eagerly towards her, making violent efforts 
to climb the fence, and failing to do so. 
She could not pass them by, but, going to 
the fence, lifted them over one by one, to 
clasp them in an embrace strong and 
tender, which she believed would be the 
last forever. 

Little Henry would not be comforted 
until she had promised, with her tears 
flowing hopelessly of such a prospect, that 

4 * 


42 


FORGIVEifESS ; OR, 


when she had a pretty home in a cottage 
of her own, she would send for her darling 
to come and visit her, and she would have 
a beautiful white kitten all ready there, 
waiting for him to love and fondle. 

After this consolation had been given 
to him, she was permitted to go on her 
way ; not, however, until the loving child 
had placed carefully in her pocket some 
of the bountiful supply of cake that had 
been given to him and the others in the 
hope that they would make a long morn- 
ing of it in the fields, and thus escape the 
parting scene with their dear “ Cousin 
Maggie.” Even Mrs. Grant felt unwilling 
to witness that. But after the children 
had been lifted again over the fence, and 
Margaret believed the last link now broken 
that bound her to Stratford, ,she found 
herself remembered even by the little dog, 
who had been fed by her hand, and gene- 


THE STORY OF MARGARET LISLE. 43 

rally attended her and the children in their 
rambles. 

He had commenced his journey with 
her in the most assured manner : no com- 
mands would induce him to return to the 
avenue. Looking up in her face, the loving 
little animal seemed to* say, “ You are going 
away: I will not desert you.” His glances 
at the valise she carried were full of sig- 
nificance. It was hard for the lonely and 
friendless girl to turn back her dumb com- 
panion, he seemed so much like a friend 
in this hour of desolation : it must he done, 
however; so, walking some distance again 
towards the children, she managed to make 
them understand that the dog must be 
called back by them and brought home. 

After that no fresh interruption oc- 
curred, and with no society but her quiet 
tears, Margaret Lisle went on her un- 
known way. 


44 


forgiveness; oe, 


CHAPTER IV. 



II VE miles south of Stratford, ia an 


opposite direction from the railroad 
station, stood a small village called Wake- 
field, remarkable for nothing except its 
mills, and for being the abode of the mill- 
owners and their work-people. But, insig- 
nificant as the place appeared in most re- 
spects, not having even any special beauty 
of scenery to recommend it to strangers tra- 
velling that way, there was, nevertheless, 
a moral atmosphere pervading its society, 
and a tone of religious feeling, that gave 
a peaceful,' calm, and trustworthy charac- 
ter to the place. About midway of the 
main street stood a modest church-build- 
ing, with a spacious school-house on one 
side of it, and on the other a shaded, low- 


THE STORY OF MARGARET LISLE. 45 

spreading parsonage house. This simple 
but picturesque cottage had been origi- 
nally built at the same time with the 
“meeting-house,” over a hundred years 
ago, containing then but four rooms in all. 
Other rooms had been added from time to 
time under the necessities of successive 
ministers, until now it was difficult to say 
which was the original front door, or which 
of the various gables was the one that had 
been there from the beginning. The whole 
lower-story bay-windows, verandahs, and 
all, was veiled by fragrant running vines, 
and spreading roses in profusion, giving 
way in winter to luxuriant ivy. 

Towards this parsonage Margaret’s 
thoughts had tended from the time she 
had entered, almost without knowing it, 
at the forks of the road, upon the path 
leading to Wakefield. The kind, benevo- 
lent face of the old clergyman was not 


46 


forgiveness; or, 


unfamiliar to her memory : he had occa- 
sionally occupied the pulpit at Stratford, 
and had more than once been a guest at 
Mr. Grant’s table. 

Her trouble was of so sudden and recent 
a nature, that she could scarcely judge 
whether the circumstances should be made 
known to strangers, or not. Certainly, if 
she narrated the story according to her be- 
lief, and her own conviction of the truth, 
much discredit would be reflected upon 
those who had apparently been so kind to 
her for the last five years. Yet how else 
could she tell it ? Turn it which way she 
would, there was no other view to take of 
the whole matter than this : that she had 
been wrongfully accused of negligence, and, 
through that negligence, of having set on 
fire the nursery with its sleeping inmates 
the night before^ If Mr. Somers looked 
at it in the same light as Mrs. Grant, how 


THE STORY OF MARGARET LISLE. 47 

could she convince him any more than 
her ? Her own bare word was all she had 
to depend upon in either case. 

Just as the sun was going down in the 
west, Margaret found her weary feet had 
brought her, almost imperceptibly, froi%the 
country road-side path into the side-walk 
of the village. She must rest somewhere 
for the night, and therefore decided she 
would make this her halting-place, stop- 
ping to sleep at a quiet, little-frequented 
public house, which seemed more like a 
plain farm-house than a tavern. But few 
of these friendly, comfortable inns are to 
be found in latter times : this, at Wakefield, 
had not yet been superseded by a railroad 
hotel. 

Knowing it to be conducted on temper- 
ance principles, Margaret hesitated the 
less about entering this house ; and she 
had sufficient money in her purse,— her 


48 


forgiveness; or, 


little stock having been frequently added to 
by Mr. Grant under one pretext or another, 
— to defray her expenses for some days, if 
necessary. Questions might, and proba- 
bly would, be asked ; some perhaps, which 
sh^ would find difficulty in answering: but 
she anticipated no other inconvenience. 
She was spared the trial, however. 

At the moment of her entering the vil- 
lage, it so happened that the clergyman 
and his cheery little wife were sitting at 
their tea-table, concluding their refreshing 
summer-evening repast. At the end of it, 
Mr. Somers, as usual, gave his arm to his 
wife, observing that the verandah in front 
of the house would be the coolest place for 
them to sit for the evening, and escorted 
her there accordingly. The old lady's 
quick glance almost immediately rested 
upon the slight young figure approaching 


THE STORY OF MARGARET LISLE. 49 


the parsonage : she also noticed the languid, 
weary gait. 

“ My dear/’ she said, in a low voice, is 
that a stranger ; or is it one of our own 
young people ? Some new hand for Mr. 
Lawson’s factory, perhaps ; he has adver- 
tised for hands lately.” 

“ That is no factory hand, Lucy,” said 
her husband, looking in the direction indi- 
cated. “ I ought to know that face ; for 
I’m sure I’ve seen the young girl before. 
Do not let her go by, my dear ; she looks 
very weary. Invite her in; the tea stands 
yet on the table.” ^ 

By this time, Margaret had reached the 
front yard of the parsonage ; but was 
abashed on perceiving the minister and 
his wife come out to the porch ; so that 
she rather turned her head aside. 

The kind, pleasant tones reached her 
ear, however, before she could pass by, — 

D 


50 


FORGIVENESS ; OR, 


“ Young woman, I take you to be a 
stranger in our village, from the valise 
you carry ; and you look very tired. I’ll 
open the gate for you, and have you come 
in to rest awhile, and take a cup of tea to 
refresh you : we have only just left the 
table.” 

While saying these words, the good old 
lady was stepping actively down the gravel- 
path and unlatching the gate. Margaret 
could not speak ; she was in reality ex- 
tremely tired : but it was not that : it was 
the unlooked-for kindness that choked 
her utterance. That anybody should speak 
in a friendly tone to her, after she had 
been sent away from her home for setting 
the house on fire ! it was not to be ex- 
pected. 

Innocent of the deed, although she knew 
herself to be, yet, to her mind, it appeared 
as if Mrs. Grant had made it so utterly 


THE STOKY OF MAEQARET LISLE. 51 

impossible for any one else to have done 
it, that every one who heard of the cir- 
cumstance would join in condemning her 
as the guilty person. When these be- 
nevolent persons heard the dreadful story, 
surely they would not allow her to stay 
under their roof. 

The tears were streaming down her pale 
face as she went up the steps of the veran- 
dah. This was enough for Mr. Somers, the 
good pastor ; he came forward, and, taking 
her hand, was about to say something 
cheering to her, when his first look assured 
him that it was Margaret Lisle, the orphan 
girl whom he had once or twice met at 
Mr. Grant’s table in Stratford. 

“My child,” he said, “I am sure I ought 
to make you welcome more cordially than 
if you were the stranger I supposed you ; 
but,” as if a new thought had struck him, 
“ I trust you are not the bearer of any ill 


52 


FOEGIVENESS; OE, 


tidings from my friend Mr. Grant ; he has 
not sent for me as a clergyman because 
he is in trouble, I hope?” 

“Oh, no, sir, no,” sobbed poor Margaret. 
“Mr. Grant is away from home, or I would 
not be here, It is I who am in trouble.” 

She could say no more ; and the pastor 
then signed to his wife to take her into 
the house and give her some refreshment 
the first thing : after that, he resolved to 
hold some conversation with her, when she 
would be better able to bear it. He was 
aware that Mrs. Grant had not been con- 
sidered as kind to her as her husband had 
been. 

Following the dictates of the same benev- 
olent impulses, Mrs. Somers led Margaret 
to the dining-room, and having removed her 
bonnet, seated her at the table, pouring 
out tea and urging her to swallow it, even 
if she could not eat. In the course of a 


THE STORY OF MARGARET LISLE. 53 

little while, the poor girl became more 
composed ; water seemed to be her princi- 
pal 'necessity, but the cheering influence 
of a cup of tea was not unfelt : she was 
able to give a clear statement of her situa- 
tion after taking it. 

On her saying that she must go to the 
tavern to sleep, her good friends placed 
such a movement entirely out of her power. 
Their house was to be her shelter for the 
night, and for as many more nights as she 
chose to remain. 

Af length the matter was settled : Mar- 
garet feeling thankful to be under such a 
roof, and protected by such excellent 
friends, provided she succeeded in impress- 
ing .them with the truth of her story : if 
not, oh, then she must go on her weary 
way again, branded as a deceiver and be- 
lieved to be an incendiary. 

The following hour was occupied with 
6 * 


54 FORGIVENESS ; OR, 

her history and the remarks and advice 
of the clergyman and his wife. Margaret 
saw that her word was received without 
suspicion ; saw that in their eyes she was 
held incapable of such gross neglect and 
consequent falsehood. They judged no 
one : were willing to leave the matter to 
be made clear in some future time ; but 
whoever was the guilty person, it was not 
Margaret Lisle. 

These words fell like balm upon the 
sorely-wounded heart of the orphan girl ; 
and after being still further comforted by 
the prayers of her kind protector, she was 
led into a fresh, sweet little chamber, where 
she slept peacefully until morning. 

The result of the long interview held 
the next morning between Margaret and 
her friends was this. 

Mr. Somers wrote to a sister-in-law of 
his, in an adjoining State, strongly recom- 


THE STORY OF MARGARET LISLE. 55 

mending the young girl to her kind con- 
sideration as one who would be a valuable 
companion to her either in sickness or 
health, during her present rather lonely 
circumstances. So confident was the good 
clergyman that his sister would receive 
with readiness so interesting a claimant on 
her benevolence, and one whose character 
was endorsed by him, that he felt no hesi- 
tation in yielding to her desire to proceed 
at once on her journey. He could not 
wonder at her anxiety to go far away from 
the neighbourhood of the Grant family. 
More money was placed in her purse to 
defray the expense of the stage ride ; she 
was carefully instructed in regard to the 
route, and had every comfort provided 
which the distance required. 

The only special request made by Mar- 
garet was that the family at Stratford 
might be kept in ignorance of her move- 


56 FORGIVENESS ; OR, 

ments. The ties that had hound her to 
them had been rudely and cruelly severed ; 
and she had no desire to keep them ac- 
quainted with the history of one whom 
they had accused of acting so ungratefully. 

The excellent pastor held a kind and 
fatherly conversation with her in his study ; 
urging her to be faithful to the Master 
whom she had vowed to serve ; to trust 
him, in all her trials, knowing that she 
would be brought through them in his 
own good time ; and to rest satisfied with 
whatever might be his will regarding the 
final clearing of her character from the 
unjust charges. 

“ Let faith and hope bear you up,” he 
concluded, “under all adversities, and never 
neglect the duty of frequent and fervent 
prayer. Write to Mrs. Somers or myself 
when difficulties occur, and you shall 
always find friends in us.” 


THE STORY OF MARGxiRET LISLE. 57 

With, tears of grateful affection, the or- 
phan girl, once more cheered by hope, 
parted from her benefactors, and was 
placed in the stage-coach to commence 
her long journey. 


58 


forgiveness; or, 


CHAPTER V. 

T Stratford, in Mr. Grant’s house, all 



was confusion for many days follow- 
ing the departure of Margaret Lisle, both 
on account of the repairs going on in the 
building, and the consequent establishing 
of the nursery in another part of the house, 
and because of the absence of the young 
girl who had quietly occupied an import- 
ant position in the family without their 
being at all grateful for her services, or in 
the least appreciating their importance. 

“ What does ail our children, I wonder !” 
Nancy exclaimed, one day, about a week 
after the fire. Nothing but quarrelling and 
screaming whenever I pass the nursery. 
Do get another child’s-nurse, mamma ; 
somebody that will have the knack of 


THE STORY OF MARGARET LISLE. 59 

amusing tlie children, and keeping their 
cries within bounds.” 

Mary took up the subject by saying, — 
“ This house has not seemed like home 
since the night of the fire. On that even- 
ing we all went out in good spirits, nicely 
dressed, expecting to enjoy ourselves; and 
we did enjoy ourselves ; but, oh my, such 
a coming home I it makes me shudder to 
think of it! And from that night there 
lias not been one hour of comfort, ex- 
cepting when we were asleep.” 

“ Surely, girls,” said their mother, in 
an irritated tone, “ you cannot suppose 
that I enjoy this state of things any mo^e 
than you do ; instead of complaining so 
bitterly, I would take it more kindly of 
you, if you would occasionally give me a 
little assistance, through all this confusion 
of hammering and screaming. If you 
could sometimes go into the nursery, iii- 


60 


forgiveness; or, 


stead of passing by it as quickly as pos- 
sible, we might have more quietness per- 
haps ; for you must surely know that I 
cannot do every thing; the cook givea^me 
quite enough to manage/’ 

“ What is the matter with Letty, 
mamma?” 

“ She knows better than I do, I suspect,” 
said Mrs. Grant ; but a more thoroughly 
stupid person than she has become, I have 
never known in a family/’ 

“Well, then, mamma,” said Nancy, 
“ suppose you make a complete change in 
our domestic establishment ; dismiss the 
servants we now have, all except David, 
and obtain a new set entirely.” 

“ Easier said than done, Nancy,” said 
her mother ; “ but I have no objections to 
dismissing the child’ s-nurse ; she proves 
herself increasingly incompetent : the chil- 
dren are more care to me than ever before. 


THE STOKY OF MARGAEET LISLE. 61 

However, I hope your father will be at 
home soon, and he will bring them into 
order.” 

Was it to be wondered at that the poor 
children, left almost entirely to the care 
of hired assistants, should sorely miss their 
beloved companion and friend? Where 
were now the entertaining stories, and the 
sweet ballads sung to them at twilight? 
Nothing' was said about this, however, in 
the present history of grievances. 

“ There’s a ring at the door,” said Nancy ; 
how can we see anybody, with all this 
building turmoil going on?” 

But before the room in which they were 
sitting could be at all arranged, a quick 
step sounded in the passage, and, with a 
slight tap at the door, in came Harry 
Bolton, a nephew of Mrs. Grant’s from the 
South, very intimate in the family, — who 


62 


forgiveness; or, 


had lately graduated at college, only a few 
miles off. 

After greeting his relatives all round, 
the young man begged for an explanation 
of the confusion in which he found the 
house. 

“ I was not aware, aunt,” he said, “that 
you intended building this summer, and 
uncle away, too.” 

“ Have you not heard of our alarm 
here, Harry?” said Mrs. Grant; “and the 
narrow escape the poor children had from 
being burned in their beds ?” 

Ho: Harry had heard nothing whatever; 
therefore, the story, with many additions, 
suspicions, and comments, was told to him 
eagerly by his aunt and cousins, sometimes 
all speaking at once. Poor Margaret was 
violently censured as being the cause of 
the disaster; and Mary aroused the indig- 
nation of her cousin by adducing, as a mo- 


THE STORY OF MARGARET LISLE. 63 

tive, “ that Margaret bad set fire to the 
bouse because she was not invited to ac- 
company them to tbe concert.” 

Even Mrs. Grant bad tbe grace to silence 
a remark so vindictive and utterly unjust; 
tbe rest made no reply. 

“Was Margaret left in charge of tbe 
whole bouse?” Harry inquired. 

“ She was left at home,” replied Mrs. 
Grant, “ as tbe only representative of tbe 
family ; and I requested her to put tbe 
younger children to bed, while Letty, tbe 
cook, voluntarily took charge of the baby.” 

“Yes, ma'am ; but did you place the 
family and tbe house in her care ? letting 
her know the responsibility of her posi- 
tion ?” 

“ I don’t remember making a speech to 
her of any kind, particularly, Harry ; but 
was it not natural to suppose that she 


64 


forgiveness; or, 


would sit up until we came home, and 
protect the house from danger?” 

“ Well, she was rather young to do much 
protecting or defending, wasn’t she?” said 
Harry. “I should think your old cook was 
the one that would have been left in charge ; 
and, as the nursery was committed to her 
care, I think the burning of that particular 
room might be traced to her carelessness 
more properly than to Margaret’s, espe- 
cially, as I understood you to say that 
Margaret was in her room and soundly 
sleeping when you came home.” 

“ So was the cook, Harry,” interrupted 
Nancy. 

“Yes,” said Mrs. Grant; “it is altogether 
a mystery; and we cannot solve it in any 
other way than that Margaret, who was 
the last one in the room, Letty says, must 
have left the candle burning too near the 
window-curtain, and the wind blowing the 


THE STORY OF MARGARET LISLE 65 

curtain a little, it caught fire, and then all 
the rest got to burning just as we came into 
the house. Really, I do not know how I 
can talk about it so quietly ; only imagine 
the danger to those poor, unconscious chil- 
dren.” 

“Did it never occur to any of you, my 
dear relations,” observed Harry, “ that this 
excellent cook of yours, who does, un- 
deniably, make good bread, pastry, &g., is 
rather too fond of stimulants?” 

“ Why, Harry I” exclaimed Mrs. Grant : 
“ what would you insinuate? Surely, not 
that the woman is intemperate.” 

“ That’s what people are commonly 
called, ma’am, who drink too much 
spirituous liquors, and are consequently not 
temperate : you know they must be either 
one or the other.” 

“ Such an idea never crossed my mind,” 
indifrnantlv exclaimed Mrs. Grant. 


66 


FORGIVENESS ; OR, 


“I am not sure that it would have 
crossed mine, aunt,” said Harry, “ were it 
not that I have had what is called ‘ ocular 
demonstration' of the fact more than once ; 
but I will only mention the most recent 
instance.” 

“ And what was that?” eagerly inquired 
Mary. “ I wonder what will happen next.” 

“ You may recollect that, on my last 
visit here, I was obliged to leave in the 
early morning train ; and that I insisted on 
not having any of you disturbed to see me 
off. You kindly made arrangements for 
an early breakfast.” 

“Well,” interrupted Mrs. Grant, “you 
had it, I trust?’ 

Harry smiled, as he said, “ Hot quite so 
much breakfast that morning; as might be 
imagined. By the time this excellent Letty 
had been roused from her slumbers, and 
had put a shaving or two into the stove, 


THE STOEY OF MAEGAEET LISLE. 67 

towards my expected cooking, tke wkistle 
sounded, and I left the house, reaching the 
station just in time, but no more. The 
woman had evidently not slept off the 
effects of intoxication ; she scarcely knew 
what she was doing.” 

“But, Harry,” said Mary, “although I 
am very sorry, as we all must be, that 
you lost your breakfast that morning, you 
surely would not be so unjust as to sus- 
pect the. woman, merely because she drank 
too much on one occasion, of setting the 
house on fire ?” 

“ By no means simply for that reason ; 
but I have had other evidence of her failing 
in that way ; and, besides, I am not charg- 
ing her with deliberately setting fire to the 
house, but with acting in some careless 
manner, while she was under the influence 
of liquor, which resulted in the house taking 
fire.” 


68 


FOEGIVENESS ; OR, 


“It is almost a certainty, Harry, that 
Margaret was the careless person,” said Mrs. 
Grant; “the cook says, explicitly, that 
Margaret was in the nursery long after she 
had left it for the night.” 

“ And you take the word of that miser- 
able woman rather than believe Margaret,” 
said Harry, with flashing eyes. “ So let it 
be then ; but the time will come when my 
suspicions, or convictions rather, will be 
found to be correct ; and, in the mean time, 
this poor young girl, without relatives or 
friends, none nearer, at least, than Uncle 
Asaph, is turned on the world to find bread 
for herself as best she may. I wonder 
what uncle will say !” 

“You cannot alter my opinion, Harry, no 
matter how excited you may become on 
this subject : I cannot forgive Margaret 
for her neglect; so we will talk about 
something else now.” 


THE STOEY OF MAEGAEET LISLE. 69 


CHAPTER VI. 

TH the course of another week or two, 
Mrs. Grant was rejoiced to welcome 
her husband home again. The care of the 
building, and the increasing derangement 
in her household affairs, had begun to 
affect her health no less than her temper ; 
and Mr. Grant was bitterly disappointed, 
on arriving at home, to find none of the 
rest and refreshment, after worriment and 
fatigue to which he had been looking for- 
ward throughout his journey homeward. 

He was an honourable and upright 
man, highly respected in the neighbour- 
hood ; but on the temperance question he 
considered all the movements that were 
making to diminish the use of ardent spirits 
quite unnecessary. For himself, he could 


70 


FORGIVENESS ; OR, 


trust his own judgment in their use, as any 
man of se»se could ; and he was not going 
to banish them from his house because 
weak-minded men indulged in them to 
excess, and thus debased themselves, — con- 
sequently his demijohns of choice liquors 
were to be seen standing in due array in 
Mrs. Grant’s store-room. 

A day or two after his return, a wet storm 
set in, making his journeys to the city, 
which were just then imperative, highly 
uncomfortable, and exposing his health. 
On coming back, one evening, wet, 
chilled, and displeased, with the confusion 
among the children and servants, in his 
formerly quiet home, the need of some 
physical comfort seemed more than usually 
pressing, before sitting down for the even- 
ing. Finding his decanters empty, he took 
a light and went himself to the store-room 
to replenish them, observing, not without 


THE STORY OF MARGARET LISLE. 71 

surprise, tlie door unlocked, and no key 
visible (it was lost, he was afterwards 
told). Still further was he astonished, on 
lifting the demijohn of costly brandy, filled 
just before he left home three months ago, 
so lio:ht as to suo-gest but small measure 
inside : about a quart was found to be the 
amount contained. The various kinds of 
wine, though not reduced quite so exten- 
sively, had still evidently been lessened by 
some hand. Mrs, Grant heard herself 
called rather loudly ; hastening to the store- 
room, she was questioned on the matter 
with great earnestness by her husband. 
Mr. Grant’s just indignation had been 
deeply aroused on finding that Margaret 
had been banished his house during his 
absence ; and he was, consequently, not in a 
conciliatory state of mind just then. But 
Mrs. Grant was quite as much astonished 
as her husband at the disappearance of 


72 


FORGIVENESS ; OB, 


the liquors. Her fears were aroused lest 
her husband should now, more heavily 
than at first, charge upon her the blame 
of Margaret’s departure, — for with the 
natural discernment which belonged to 
his character, he saw at once the truth of 
the matter. The cook had been intoxicated 
on the night of the fire, and through her 
neglect the danger had arisen ; but Mar- 
garet, the patient, much-enduring Marga- 
ret, had not even been believed when she 
asserted her innocence, and had been ex- 
pelled in disgrace. Ho wife would have 
envied Mrs. Grant the position in which 
she found herself during the next hour, 
when Mr. Grant carried throug^h his rigid 
investigation into the circumstances' of that 
eventful night. Openly charging Letty 
with having made use of the liquors in the 
store-room, which, of course, she denied, 
he then charged her with making false 


THE STORY OF MARGARET LISLE. 73 

statements regarding Margaret, and thus 
insuring her dismissal from the family. 
The next morning the woman took her 
departure. Since no positive proof could 
be obtained of her guilt, the exposure of 
legal measures was not resorted to ; but, 
severely reprimanded, the wretched woman 
went her way. Then came the painful 
reflection to Mr. Grant that Margaret was 
gone beyond the reach of any atonement 
that he could make to her for the cruel 
treatment of his family, since all inquiries 
proved fruitless in revealing the direction 
she had taken after leaving the village as 
she did, alone. 

If Mrs. Grant had looked forward to 
her husband’s return for a time of restored 
peace and quietness, her anticipations 
were far from being realized. His sense 
of justice and humanity kept him in con- 
tinual anxiety to find the poor girl whose 


74 


FOEGIVENESS; OR, 


mother had been a much loved relative, 
and to whom he had given his promise 
that her daughter should in him ever find 
a true and unfailing friend. 

From a feeling that seemed like^making 
restitution to the injured girl, a victim to 
another person’s error, and also from some 
stinging of conscience for having permitted 
the free use of intoxicating liquors in the 
house, Mr. Grant’s good common sense 
from this time exerted an opposite in- 
fluence over him. He utterly abandoned 
his former moderate habits of indulgence; 
and his house, from that time forth, might 
have been called strictly a “ temperance 
house/' 


THE STOKY OF MARGAEET LISLE. 75 


CHAPTER VII. 

TIE destination of Margaret Lisle, on 



leaving the cottage of Mr. Somers, 
had been the home of his sister-in-law, a 
lady of wealth and refinement, whose kind 
nature, resembling that of Mr. Somers, 
delighted in helping the oppressed or af- 
flicted in- any way that lay in her power. 
An explanatory letter had been sent with 
Margaret, securing the good offices of Mrs. 
Sherwood, who, being a widow, lived very 
much alone. 

It was left to the wishes and judgment 
of this lady, what further would be con- 
sidered advisable for Margaret; for the 
present, Mrs. Sherwood assured her, on her 
arrival, she could not have been more wel- 
come, had she been expressly sent for; be- 


76 


forgiveness; or^ 


cause some friends, whom she had expected 
to spend the summer with her, had changed 
their plans and gone to Europe, and she 
felt peculiarly lonely in consequence. Until 
the autumn, at any rate, this must be con- 
sidered Margaret’s home. 

Here were rest, comfort, and affection, 
all provided for the poor girl, for which 
she felt desirous to prove her gratitude by 
deeds as well as words. She, therefore, 
made it her constant study to serve and 
gratify Mrs. Sherwood in every possible 
way. Every wish was anticipated, every 
commission faithfully executed. Reading 
aloud to her in the pleasant morning-room, 
or sitting near her with her sewing, of 
which she entirely relieved her benefac- 
tress, or executing her designs of benev- 
olence among the poor, her whole time 
was unreservedly given up to her service. 
And delightful servitude it was ; for Mar- 


THE STORY OF MARGARET LISLE. 77 

garet possessed a warm heart, together 
with a grateful and humble disposition. 
There was no wish felt for gayeties, even- 
ing entertainments, or the company of 
young people. Retirement was what she 
sought in her present singular position as 
to character, and here, where her duties so 
plainly lay, also, were all her inclinations 
centred. 

There was but one shadow over this 
calm, conscientious, and almost happy life, 
which lasted through the summer. In her 
inmost heart, Margaret felt that she had 
not forgiven, could not forgive, those who 
had so deeply wronged her. The remem- 
brance of her sudden dismissal from a 
home where she had lived at least a blame- 
less, if not an actively useful, life, was still 
fresh and irritating. But the time might 
come when her feelings would be softened: 
for this she longed and prayed. 

7 * 


78 


FORGIVENESS ; OR, 


Mrs. Sherwood, in the mean time, had 
become so sincerely attached to her gentle 
companion, that the thought of parting 
with her in the autumn was painful. The 
subject was dismissed whenever it entered 
her thoughts ; yet she could not but be 
aware that certain nieces of hers some- 
times manifested a jealous and unfriendly 
spirit towards Margaret, prompted by the 
fear that she would gain an undue in- 
fluence over their aunt, and induce her to 
make her will in a different way from 
what it would have been, if she had never 
made her appearance there. 

A nephew of Mrs. Sherwood’s, who had 
but recently discovered his aunt, began to 
entertain similar suspicions and fears. He 
was a handsome, unprincipled young man ; 
with sufiicient tact to conceal his mis- 
deeds from his aunt and other relatives, 
yet making ample compensation to him- 


THE STORY OF MARGARET LISLE. 79 


self in private for his outward enforced 
correctness. 

Holstein was not a little annoyed on 
observing that his conversation, appear- 
ance, (fee., evidently made no impression on 
Margaret, whom he knew by her deport- 
ment to be a lady, and also by birth to be 
his equal. In consequence of this mortifi- 
cation, his mind became all the more 
ready to admit the suspicion that she 
entertained 'designs upon his aunt’s wealth 
and favour. 

Finding that similar ideas were ex- 
pressed among his (Jousins, they all com- 
bined together to make the situation so 
uncomfortable for poor Margaret, that she 
would be compelled to leave the house. 

Jealousy, whether of beauty or influence, 
is a powerful agent in many a sad history 
of enmity and persecution, as we all know 
too well : in this case, Margaret’s beauty 


80 


forgiveness; or, 


tended greatly to the fostering of every 
unchristian feeling on the part of her ene- 
mies. 

Margaret could not be blind to the in- 
creasing coldness which marked their de- 
meanour towards her ; but well aware that 
she had no claims on their attention, and 
not being troubled with self-consciousness 
to any great extent, and, above all, feeling 
deeply that Mrs. Sherwood, beyond all 
others, demanded her thoughts and efforts, 
she was not rendered unhappy in conse- 
quence. 

. Her evident ignorance of their designs 
increased their determination to make her 
perceive that her presence was not desired: 
rudeness succeeded coldness and neglect, 
until at length Mrs. Sherwood herself took 
occasion to speak in private to her nieces, 
requesting more considerate behaviour 
towards her young friend. 


THE STORY OF MARGARET LISLE. 81 

This "brought matters to a crisis. The 
co-operation of their cousin Holstein was 
at once called for. He had hoped Mar- 
garet might be removed from his aunt’s 
protection without his direct interference ; 
for he was one of those young men who 
are very careful of appearances, and firmly 
believed in “ keeping the outside of the 
cup and platter clean.” 

It was not long before an opportunity 
occurred, — the most eligible one that pre- 
sented itself to his mind, — to carry out his 
base design, and that was to give poor 
Margaret an alarm, so serious that she 
would hasten to leave the neighbourhood, 
without any further exertion on his part 
being necessary. 

Possessing himself of the fact that the 
young girl would be sent by Mrs. Sher- 
wood a distance of two miles into the 
country, on ascertain afternoon, to execute 

F 


82 


forgiveness; or, 


a commission for her, he decided that 
no better chance need be wished for, than 
during her walk on this lonely road, to 
give her the alarm that would end in her 
speedily leaving the place. 


THE STOEY OF MAEOAEET LISLE. 83 


CHAPTER VIII. 

nV/TRS. SHERWOOD’S commission was 
accepted by Margaret with unmin- 
gled pleasure : the opportunities were rare 
for a long walk in the open country ; . and 
the day was a lovely one, in early summer: 
just a year from the time of her unexpected 
banishmewt from Mrs. Grant’s house. She 
felt, too, that the solitary walk would 
afford her a season for reflection, and she 
might strive again to overcome her sensa- 
tions of resentment, which still continued 
their power over her, towards Mrs. Grant. 
She wanted to be able to forgive her from 
her heart : she felt the force of the com- 
mand on the subject of forgiveness of ene- 
mies ; and never did she repeat the Lord’s 
Prayer without a strange feeling at the 


84 


forgiveness; or, 


words, “ Forgive us our trespasses as we 
forgive those who trespass against us.” 
Yet, so far, all her efforts had been in 
vain : the spirit of forgiveness had not 
been obtained. But, surely, she might 
have drawn some encouragement from re- 
membering that the very wish to be able 
to forgive was an evidence that her heart 
was not altogether hardened towards those 
who had done her such grievous wrong ! 

Margaret’s errand at the dairy-farm had 
been successfully accomplished : she had 
been detained a little longer than was desir- 
able by the kind mistress of the dairy, who 
had insisted on placing before her some re- 
freshment from her cool spring-house be- 
fore her walk back : in consequence of this 
detention, she was yet half a mile from the 
town when darkness began to fall. 

A dense wood was before her, the wind- 
ing road through which had seemed so 


THE STORY OF MARGARET LISLE. 85 

lovely on her way out as to cause her to 
linger in its shade : now, however, the 
path looked dark and extremely lonely. 
Fear was not a special weakness of Mar- 
garet : she therefore walked quietly on, — - 
singing one of her favourite hymns softly 
as she went. Suddenly, in the depth of 
the wood, she felt her arm grasped from 
behind: a. voice she did not know saluted 
her ; and, in another moment, a masked 
face was thrust before her own. A scream, 
piercing and loud, resounded through the 
forest : but no one was near to come to her 
rescue. It required but a few minutes for 
Margaret to see that the man was intoxi- 
cated : this added to her fright. After 
making fruitless efforts to break away 
from his grasp, she at length appealed to 
his mercy, and begged humbly to be re- 
leased. The answer came unguarded : the 
8 


86 


FOEGIVENESS; OR, 


voice was not feigned, and she at once re- 
cognized Mark Holstein. 

Finding he was recognized, Holstein re- 
moved his mask, which he found oppressive, 
and, in a threatening manner, proceeded 
to make his terms with his captive. His 
condition supplied him with a boldness 
which he could not have had if he had 
been sober ; indeed, it was to obtain this 
courage (falsely so-called), that he had deli- 
berately taken glass after glass of brandy 
and water. Thus far, spirituous liquors 
appeared to have been the inciting cause 
of great trouble to poor Margaret. 

In repl}^ to her urgent solicitations that 
he would release his hold of her arm, he 
led her to a large tree, and, standing before 
her, told her she might be free, but not to 
attempt moving from that spot until she 
had listened to what he should tell her. 


THE STORY OF MARGARET LISLE. 87 

With down-cast eyes, but trembling, Mar- 
garet stood still. 

‘‘You have a secret to keep,” he said: 
“ you would not be here, a stranger, and 
under my foolish old aunt’s protection, 
if you had not done something you are 
ashamed of, — that you don’t want known, 
and that you think I do not know. Now 
listen to me : if you want your secret kept, 
and your name not disgraced publicly, 
you’ve got to leave that house within one 
week ; mind, one week. 

“ I know your meanness, and how you 
wheedle my poor, simple old aunt : you 
know she has money to leave behind her ; 
but she has plenty of heirs, let me tell you, 
without your coming here to take the 
money unlawfully away from them. Now 
promise, that in less than a week you will 
leave this place, then I will not tell any- 
body your past history.^ If you do not, 


88 


forgiveness; or, 


do you think anybody, even my aunt, will 
take any notice of you after this even- 
ing?" 

“Oh 1 I promise; I promise to go; only 
let me go home 1” cried the poor, stricken 
girl, in a tone that might have softened 
the heart of a ruffian. 

“Then remember what I have told 
you,” said the inhuman Holstein, and reel- 
ing to one side to let her pass. 

How she reached Mrs. Sherwood’s house, 
Margaret «ould never recall ; for at the 
door, in the side-yard, she fell in a fainting 
fit, and for several days was confined to 
her room by illness. And all this sorrow 
had followed closely upon her efforts and 
fresh resolution to forgive the woman who 
had first set her feet in this devious and 
painful pathway through life, by refusing 
her the shelter of a home promised to her 
mother for her on her dying bed ! 


THE STOBY OF MAKGARET LISLE. 89 


CHAPTER IX. 

"T^OR a few days, Mark Holstein was 
nowhere to be seen. The report was 
that he had gone on a sudden journey ; 
but, in reality, he was k;eeping closely 
housed, watching all that happened, and 
making sure for himself that no suspicion 
attached to his name. 

His allusion to Margaret having a secret 
to keep was made simply to carry out his 
design, and strengthen his power over her. 
He knew nothing whatever of her past 
history, — Mrs. Sherwood having preserved 
the confidence inviolate that had been - 
placed in her ; but poor Margaret believed 
he had been told that she was turned 
away for setting fire to her guardian’s 
house. 


8 * 


90 


forgiveness; or, 


On the night of her return from the 
dairy-farm, she had explained her fainting 
fit satisfactorily to her alarmed benefac- 
tress, by saying that she had been fright- 
ened by seeing a masked face in the woods. 
Conjectures were numerous, among those 
who heard of the adventure, concerning 
the perpetrator of so unmanly an act 
towards a defenceless girl : some saying 
that if she had died of fright on the spot, 
it would have been no wonder. The con- 
jectures were all wide of the mark, of 
course, because the hypocrite who wore 
the mask, wore it in every sense, main- 
tained an outwardly blameless character. 

As soon as Margaret was strong enough 
to speak calmly on the subject, she re- 
quested her good friend to forward her 
plans for immediate departure from her 
home ; but to do it. secretly, that it might 
not be suspected she had even left her 


THE STOE.Y OF MARGARET LISLE. 91 

slck*room. Slie could not, at this time, 
explain all the causes of this sudden move- 
ment, but would reveal them at some 
future day : her exceeding fright in the 
woods had shocked her nervous system 
sadly: she must go away. She desired, 
after her health was restored, to go into 
the world and endeavour to earn her liv- 
ing, and if her services should be required, 
in sickness or trouble, by her beloved 
friend, she would always command them 
hereafter. One earnest request she made, 
and that was, that wherever her residence 
might be — and of which she would duly 
keep Mrs. Sherwood informed — her ad- 
dress might be made known to no one. 
This her friend faithfully promised. 

Finding remonstrance appeared only to 
agitate the poor girl, without producing any 
change in her resolve, Mrs. Sherwood ac- 
ceded to her request that she would think 


92 


forgiveness; or, 


of some kind of employment in New York 
for which she was sufficiently qualified. It 
was at length decided that Margaret should 
carry with her a letter to a person in that 
city, who conducted a school for very young 
children, — for teaching such, Margaret was 
well qualified ; but her own education had 
not been sufficiently liberal to admit of her 
teaching older children. 

Before the expiration of the week, — to 
the close of which Margaret had looked 
forward with nervous dread, lest her illness 
should prevent the fulfilment of her en- 
forced promise, — Mrs. Sherwood’s letter 
was written ; her parting regrets feelingly 
expressed ; a liberal sum of money was 
placed in her purse, and she was safely 

out of N on the evening boat, which 

was to bear her to New York. Even then, 
the poor girl was haunted by the appre- 
hension that her cruel persecutor had 


THE STORY OF MARGARET LISLE. 93 

watched her movements, and might take 
the opportunity to threaten her again be- 
fore she reached the city. 

In this respect, however, her fears were 
ungrounded. The cowardly young man had 
learned in some artful way, without incur- 
ring suspicion by inquiring, that Margaret 
had been confined to her bed by illness in 
consequence of the shock to her nervous 
system : he supposed, not without some 
anxiety for the future, that she was still a 
prisoner in his aunt’s house ; and, happily 
for her, she had safely reached New York, 
and was beyond the power of discovery, 
while he was keeping out of sight from re- 
gard to his own safety. 


94 


forgiveness; or, 


CHAPTER X 

HE letter given her by Mrs. Sherwood 



■X had proved successful in procuring 
employment for Margaret as a teacher : her 
manners and appearance interested the 
benevolent, single-hearted Friend to whom 
she was introduced. A few questions were 
asked regarding her attainments, when 
Margaret candidly answered that only in 
the primary branches of education could she 
hope to be of any value to her employer. 
Happily, this was all that was needed: 
the school was not large, and the teacher 
herself took charge of the higher classes. 

In looking for a residence for herself, 
Margaret requested this lady’s assist- 
ance, — making known her desire to rent 
a room in a quiet neighbourhood, and pro- 


THE STORY OF MARGARET LISLE. 95 

vide her own meals. Friend Barton re- 
monstrated a little, very naturally, 
observing the youth and beauty of her 
assistant ; but in the course of an hour’s 
conversation, her scruples were removed 
by the evident prudence and high princi- 
ple governing the young girl’s whole 
deportment. Recalling such quiet locali- 
ties as she knew, not far from the school, 
she finally suggested St. John’s Court 
as one that was considered perfectly 
respectable, though occupied by working- 
men and their families. 

To this court Margaret at once directed 
her steps, and there obtained a room on 
the second floor, in a house near the en- 
trance from the main street. The room 
was furnished, and for that reason com- 
manded a higher rent than one that was 
empty, also at her disposal. Her salary 
admitted of her taking the furnished room ; 


96 


FOEGIVENESS ; OE, 


and, happily, the kind present given her by 
Mrs. Sherwood enabled her to pay the 
first month’s rent in advance, with a suffi- 
cient surplus amount on which to commence 
her frugal housekeeping without delay. 

One of her first duties being to inform 
Mrs. Sherwood of the success of her un- 
dertaking, she wrote a long and grateful 
letter, — hopeful for the future, and earnest 
in her request that she might remain un- 
known still to the Grant family. 

Margaret had made no attempt to 
establish herself in a boarding-house: her 
means were too limited for her admission 
into one of a superior class, and in others 
she saw more or less danger of being 
noticed, and perhaps sought, by persons 
with whom she would prefer not to associ- 
ate: having no friends in this great city, 
her desire was to remain secluded and 
unknown. But another reason for her 


THE STORY OF MARGARET LISLE. 97 


preferring solitude was that her heart was 
still struggling between the desire and 
the ability to forgive the family at Strat- 
ford. She longed to be at peace with her- 
self in this matter ; and frequently did she 
pray that she might conquer her own evil 
nature by trying to follow the example of 
her lowly Redeemer. But whenever the 
scene came before her mind of the morning 
succeeding the fire — when she saw, in 
memory, the cold, contemptuous expres- 
sion on the faces of the two girls, and the 
cruel hardness of their mother’s eye, while 
she went through the so-called investiga- 
tion, and finally pronounced her sentence 
of banishment from the house ; and then 
remembered, in contrast to all this, the 
earnest, attentive interest with which they 
listened to the cook’s statement, —refusing 
herself permission to contradict her atro- 
cious falsehoods,— the pleasure with which 

G 9 


98 


forgiveness; or, 


they all evidently exonerated Letty from 
the least blame, and finally, the excited 
haste with which the whole business was 
carried through — again her indignation 
brought the hot tears to her eyes, and the 
agonizing, aching pain at her heart. 

Sometimes she fancied the fire had been 
the result of a conspiracy to have her 
removed from the family during the 
absence of Mr. Grant, her only protector 
and relative. 

This thought could not be harboured 
long, because she recollected too well the 
extreme danger in which Henry’s crib was 
found, and how narrow was her own 
escape when she rushed through fire 
and smoke to bear him out in her arms. 
It was a consoling thought that his life, 
humanly speaking, had been given to her 
exertions ; she saved the child vshe so dearly 
loved. But no mother could have delib- 


THE STOEY OF MAEGAEET LISLE. 99 


erately planned to place her children in 
such terrific circumstances, even for the 
sake of finding an excuse for turning out 
a dependent orphan from the house : no 
it could not have been a conspiracy. 

In the solitude of her room — her only 
home — Margaret hoped to secure both time 
and opportunity for calm reflection on all 
that had taken place ; for there were others 
now, besides Mrs. Grant, whom she found it 
hard to forgive. Left entirely to herself, 
with no one claiming her services during 
part of every day, she felt encouraged to be- 
lieve that the grace to forgive her enemies 
might be vouchsafed to her through the 
assistance of God’s Holy Spirit, so freely 
promised to those who sincerely ask for it; 
and this was her strongest reason for choos- 
ing her present apparently uncongenial 
home. 

St. John’s Court was not an attractive 


100 


forgiveness; or, 


place for a residence. In summer, the 
heat is oppressive in such a confined clus- 
ter of houses; for, the court having but 
one outlet to the main street, no refreshing 
breeze draws through it at night, after the 
houses have become heated by the day’s 
long sunshine. Of an evening the poor, 
weary inmates, if they are quiet, orderly 
people, sit out on their door-steps ; and if 
not, the temptation is a strong one to wander 
off among unsafe places of resort. It is 
scarcely to be wondered at that but few of 
the residents of such contracted localities 
are to be found in their homes before a late 
hour of a summer’s night. It is very com- 
mon to find at the entrance from the large 
street a circle collected, composed chiefly 
of mothers, who, having left tlieir young 
children sleeping in the stifling bed-rooms, 
dare venture no farther away for their 
supply of fresh air than the end of tlie court. 


THE STOKY OF MARGAEET LISLE. 101 

In tKe present instance, the intercourse 
among the women thus assembled at the 
corner was not always of an improving 
kind : yet a degree of sociability must 
prevail, since it was not desirable to have 
unfriendly feelings existing where people 
were in such close proximity. This con- 
sideration influenced some among them, 
who, though compelled to reside here, yet 
possessed too much refinement, and too 
great a sense of propriety, to enjoy inter- 
course with the coarser and less scrupulous 
companions who unavoidably surrounded 
them ; for poverty does not always include 
or necessitate vulgarity; — women may earn 
their living by washing and ironing, or 
other household labours, and at the same 
time so regulate their hearts and thoughts 
as to keep their language free from coarse- 
ness, and also strengthen right dispositions 
by spending their hours of rest from work, 


102 FOEGIVENESS; OE, 

in profitable ways of recreation. (Thurcbes 
are open, as well as cheap places of amuse- 
ment. 

If a bard- working woman labours all 
day with the hope before her of getting 
done in time to attend the weekly lecture 
from her minister, she works with more 
industry and spirit. When she is seated 
in the lecture-room, she is resting both in 
spirit and in body : hears words that carry 
comfort to her inmost soul, and goes home 
refreshed, with no cause for future self- 
reproach for time mis-spent. 

But, alas ! the feverish excitement at- 
tending low-priced public entertainments 
proves more tempting to many of the weary 
working people ; such places are generally 
well filled. 


THE STOEY OF MARGARET LISLE. 103 


CHAPTER XI. 



X a certain summer evening, a few 


weeks after Margaret had exchanged 
the pure air and beautiful freshness of her 
country home for a city life, the usual 
group of female residents in St. John’s 
Court were collected at the outlet on Green- 
wich Street. Some had brought out small 
chairs or stools with them ; others were 
leaning against the wall, — all talking. 

‘‘ There comes that proud young girl ; 
take care how you talk,” said one of them. 
“ She has just locked the door.” 

“Let her come,” said another. “Isha’n’t 
hinder her. I never speak to her if I can 
help it.” 

“ Not unless you want to borrow a little 
sugar or tea, I suppose,” said a third. 


104 - 


FOKGIVENESS ; OE, 


Margaret passed into the street, inclin- 
ing her head courteously to the whole 
circle, as she handed the house-key to her 
landlady, Mrs. Dobson. 

“ I wonder who that girl is, anyhow,’’ 
said the last speaker ; “ she carries her 
head mighty high.” 

“She has beenr called a beauty, most 
likely, with her white face and her black 
hair.” 

“That’s nothing, if she wasn’t so distant 
in her manners. I count myself as good 
as her; yes, and better; for I know who I 
am, and who my husband is, but nobody 
knows the first word about this stranger.” 

“There can’t be a thing brought against 
her,” said Mrs. Dobson, “ since she has 
lived in our court ; you all know that. She 
has been civil and obliging whenever she 
had a chance.” 

“But when has she been inside of one 


THE STOEY OF MAEGAEET LISLE. 105 

of our houses, Mrs. Dobson? She’s too 
proud for visiting us.” 

“ I should think you would remember 
when she was inside of your house, 
J udith, — when she sat up two nights with 
your poor baby.” 

“Sure enough,” said Judith; “but I 
mean visiting in a neighbourly kind of 
way.” 

“We can do without her, I guess,” said 
another; “only I wish she would move 
away, and let somebody more like the rest 
of us have her room.” 

The evening was close and sultry. Be- 
fore Margaret returned to the court, the 
distant muttering of thunder was heard ; 
a few drops of rain falling, drove the women 
who had been so free in making their re- 
marks into their homes again : so poor 
Margaret’s position among them was still 
an undefined one. 


106 


FOEGIVENESS; OE, 


The storm came on suddenly and rapidly, 
accompanied with strong wind and crash- 
ing thunder. In the midst of it, Margaret 
reached the door of her home. Mrs. Dob- 
son, a kindly disposed woman, and her 
landlady, lived on the first floor : she had 
been less severe in her judgment than the 
others. On hearing Margaret try the latch, 
she went quickly out to her; but, on open- 
ing the door, she was almost blinded by a 
flash of sharp lightning, followed instan- 
taneously by a peal of thunder that seemed 
to shake the whole court from one end to 
the other. Mrs. Dobson screamed aloud, 
at the same moment sinking on the floor, 
terrified exceedingly. Margaret shut the 
door quietly, but looking very pale, and 
then knelt by the side of her companion, 
offering up a prayer for protection through 
the storm. When she rose from her knees, 
Mrs. Dobson begged her to remain in the 


THE STORY OF MARGARET LISLE. 107 

room with her until the gust went over ; 
though very weary from her long walk, 
Margaret consented to do so, hoping the 
time might be improved, as no opportunity 
had thus far occurred to her of being alone 
with her landlady. The time was beguiled 
by pleasant conversation, chiefly on reli- 
gious subjects ; and when the flashes be- 
came less frequent, and the thunder rolled 
away sullenly in the distance, Margaret 
took up the basket she had brought with 
her, and rose to go up-stairs. 

“YouVe been a real comfort to me,'’ 
said Mrs. Dobson. “I’m more afraid of a 
thunder-gust than any thing I ever saw 
yet ; I can’t bear to be alone while it 
lasts.” 

Margaret smiled gently. “ I’m glad I 
happened to come in just when I did,” she 
answered. “ I’m not timid myself; though 
I always feel solemn at such times, because 


108 


forgiveness; or, 


death may be very near to gome of us; 
and we can’t tell who it will be.” 

“ Yes, indeed, miss ; death, that’s it. 
If I was sure I would not be struck, I 
would not mind lightning any more than 
sunshine.” , 

“Then you feel as if death was a seri- 
ous thing,” said Margaret. 

“ Be sure I do : everybody does, I ex- 
pect.” 

“Oh, no; far from it,” replied Marga- 
ret. “ If everybody realized what ^ a 
serious thing it is, there would be more 
time spent in preparing for it ; so I 
should think, at least. But I must go, 
now, and get olF my wet clothes. Good- 
night, Mrs. Dobson : I should be glad 
to have you come up in my room when 
you have spare time.” 

Mrs. Dobson was greatly surprised 
at this invitation ; to the best of her 


THE STORY OF MARGARET LISLE. 109 

knowledge, it was the first time any- 
body living in the court had been invited 
\ by Margaret to visit her. She said to 
herself that the young woman was re- 
served and silent ; but was not 

proud, and so she would tell her neigli- 
bours. 


•\ 


10 


■< 


V 


110 


FOEGIVENESS; OE, 


^HAPTER XII. 

'T' OXELY as was the life now led by 
the deserted orphan, it could not 
have been called absolutely free from satis- 
faction. Five hours every day were 
devoted to her scholars, to whom she soon 
became attached, — being naturally fond of 
children, and having the faculty of win- 
ning their love by her own happy manner 
both in instructing and amusing them. 
On returning to her room, there was no 
obstacle to her quiet and retirement 
through the day, — all the men and women 
being busy at their work, except when en- 
gaged at their meals in their respective 
homes. The evening was the only time 
that caused Margaret annoyance : it some- 


THE STORY OF MARGARET LISLE. Ill 

times happened that unavoidable errands, 
connected with her household arrange- 
ments, compelled her to go out of an 
evening ; the night of the thunder-storm 
had been one of these occasions. There 
were not only materials to be purchased 
to supply her meals — simple though they 
were — but she had entered upon another 
engagement, after being employed in the 
school lon^ enoimh to find that it left her 

o o 

many hours of perfect leisure. 

Through the good-natured agency of 
Mrs. Dobson, Margaret had obtained plain 
sewing for private families ; this work she 
generally arranged to bring to her room 
or to carry home before dark, although 
sometimes this was impossible. In the 
mean time her evident industry, and her 
creditable occupation as a “school teacher,” 
brought her more and more into the re- 
spect and consideration of the plain but 


112 


FORGIVENESS ; OR, 


not ill-intentioned inmates of 8t. John’s 
Court. 

After a time two or three of the women 
made overtures of assistance to her, — one 
applied for permission to do her washing; 
another offered to come every Saturday 
and “scour and scrub for her.” These 
offers were gratefully received by Margaret. 

“You don’t look any too strong,” said 
Judith, the woman whose child Mar- 
garet had helped to nurse. “Somehow, I 
can’t help thinking you’ve never been used 
to doing your own washing.” 

Margaret smiled, and replied, “You are 
right, Judith : I have never before been 
compelled to do this work for myself ; but 
I have no pride about it. I see now that 
it is my duty to labour in this way, and I 
try to do it cheerfully.” 

“Yes; I have often heard you singing 
the prettiest hymns I ever heard, over your 


THE STOHY OF MABGAEET LISLE. 113 

wash-tub. You’ve got an uncommon sweet 
Voice. I’ll say that for you.” 

“Singing is a great comfort to me,” re- 
plied Margaret; “but I am ashamed to 
confess that I have entirely forgotten to^ 
consider the taste of my neighbours. 
There may be some who do not like to 
hear anybody constantly singing at their 
work.” 

“ Well, you needn’t stop on that ac- 
count,” said Judith; “for I guess all of 
us that come within the sound of your 
voice would be very much put out if you 
didn’t sing. This isn’t settling the wash- 
ing, though. How I’m a plain-spoken 
woman, and I mean what I say; I’d just as 
lief throw in your few bits of clothes with 
my own wash of a Monday as not, if you 
will trust me to do ’em up, that is.” 

The last clause was added with a sort 

of grave humility, and was quite unneces- 
H 10* 


114 


forgiveness; or, 


sary, since Judith was known to be a laun- 
dress of the highest grade. 

“ Then,” said Margaret, “ let me make 
a little bargain with you, J udith. I under- 
stand your kind intentions about my wash- 
ing; and I thank you for them. I will not 
offer you money to cancel the obligation ; 
but if you would like it, I will take your 
two little girls, for a couple of hours every 
day, and give them instruction in spelling, 
writing, and ciphering. Would you be 
willing to let me do that ?” 

The face of the hard-working woman 
brightened up with pleasure and gratitude. 

“ Indeed I would like it, miss,” she 
said ; “ and the children themselves will 
be proud to have you teach them. I can’t 
spare them to go all day to school, besides 
the expense ; but an hour from you will 
d® them twice the good that racing along 


THE STORY OF MARGARET LISLE. 115 

the streets with other children will do, 
even with lessons at the end." 

This interchange of work was quietly 
effected, and proved highly satisfactory on 
both sides. 

Margaret had long desired to be of some 
service to the people who surrounded her ; 
yet feared id make offers of assistance that 
might be construed as an implication of 
her own superiority. The door was now 
opened a little way, and she would take 
care that it should not be shut by her 
hand. 

The other woman who had come to 
tender her help in scrubbing, &c., was a 
person who had been suffering for a long 
time with some affection of her eyes, both 
painful and dispiriting. She was not totally 
blind ; * yet she was not permitted by the 
surgeon to use her eyes in any occupation 
requiring close attention ; consequently, 


116 


forgiveness; or. 


she could neither read nor sew. Knitting 
she could accomplish without much need 
of her eyes. This employment helped her, 
therefore, in her hours at home, to bring 
a small addition to her income : working 
out by the day as a char-woman gave 
her the chief means of support, however. 
Here, then, was an instance of that unself- 
ish friendliness among the poor, such as 
we sometimes meet with, — generally in 
books. This poor woman, occupied every 
day in the week, nevertheless desired to 
give the only token of good-will that lay 
in her power to the young girl who, evi- 
dently belonging to a sphere of greater 
refinement than this, and who was also 
the subject of some hidden grief, had yet 
by her conduct inspired respect and affec- 
tion among her lowly neighbours. 

The. reply made by Margaret to this 


THE STORY OF MARGARET LISLE. 117 

unlooked-for offer was immediate and 
cordial. ^ ' 

“ I will gladly accept your proposal, 
Mrs. Jones,” she said. “I find my strength 
is scarcely equal to cleaning and scrubbing 
places as nicely as I like to have them ; 
but, in return, I can now enjoy a privilege 
I have long desired, but feared you might 
think me intrusive.” 

“ What privilege, my dear young lady, 
can you possibly ask from me?” said the 
astonished woman. “ There is no favour 
in the world, as I know of, that is in my 
power to bestow.” 

“Yes, there is a great favour. I want 
you to let me come of an evening to your 
room next door, and read to you awhile, 
in the Bible and other good books, before 
you go to bed; and I also want to do your 
mending for you in my spare minutes, 
these long evenings.” 


118 


FORGIVENESS ; OR, 


The poor woman lifted her apron to her 
eye^ ; tears flowed fast. This act of kind- 
ness and sympathy came so unlooked-for 
from a lady, as she said, so far above her. 
One thing, she was glad she had always 
known her to be a lady from the first 
minute she came among them. Her neigh- 
bours had helped her maijy a time, bless 
their hearts ! if it had not been for that, 
she should have had to give up and go to 
the almshouse ; but to think of a young 
lady taking it on her to mend her poor 
clothes, it was too much, and -again the 
tears came fast. 

“We will make this little arrangement 
then, Mrs. Jones,” said Margaret; “you 
will be doing me two favours instead of 
one, and surely that will make your kind 
heart all the lighter.” 

It followed, as Margaret had hoped, that 
when the evening reading was once esta- 


THE STORY OF MARGARET LISLE. 119 

Wished, Mrs. Jones was soon asked, by one 
and another of the residents in the court, 
“ if she mightn’t run in with her bit of 
sewing or knitting, and listen to the good 
words while she worked.” Mrs. Jones, 
who was of a very social nature, was not 
the woman to refuse a request of this kind ; 
and her life became one of far greater 
cheerfulness from that time forth. In the 
society of her familiar associates and with- 
out going away, she listened, night after 
night, with but few interruptions, to the 
consoling words of the Bible, or to such 
instructive biographies and narratives as 
Margaret knew so well how to select from 
a library to which she subscribed chiefly 
on this account. 

In this world, she would never know 
the amount of encouragement and good 
influence produced upon the uncultivated 
minds of this isolated neighbourhood, in 


120 


forgiveness; or, 


consequence of her conscientious efforts to 
do what good lay nearest to her hand. 
“Do the duty that is next thee” was a 
proverb with which she had long been 
familiar; and only to those who faith- 
fully try to practise its suggestions can 
it be known how much they include. 

In the course of but a few months, a 
different, a better tone of character might 
be observed among the dwellers of St. 
John’s Court. There was less gossipping 
from house to house; less hanging round 
the entrance of an evening; a kinder spirit 
of helpfulness prevailed among the women, 
and more orderly, correct deportment in their 
husbands. 

Margaret’s mission, although not selected 
by herself, or, indeed, much thought of when 
she first went to the city, had proved a 
most successful and valuable one. Her name 
was held in reverence from one end of her 


THE STORY OF. MARGARET LISLE. 121 

small domain to the other ; and she became 
more and more calm in her own spirit, as 
her efforts for the good of others drew her 
thoughts farther away from the origin of 
all her difficulties. In teaching others from 
the Bible, she had come to feel, more forci- 
bly than ever, her own need of instruction 
in its pure and ennobling doctrines ; the 
beautiful lessons taught by the Saviour 
when on earth touched her more closely 
than ever in her life before ; the duty of 
forgiveness of our enemies seemed no longer 
one that she might or might not perform 
with impunity, but one that must be done. 

Text after text bearing on this subject 
came into her mind, the moment she found 
herself alone in her room, after performing 
outwardly her duties for the day. “If ye 
forgive not men their trespasses, neither 
will your Father forgive your trespasses.'" 

(Matt. VI. 15.) This, and various other pas- 
n 


122 


forgiveness; or, 


sages to the same effect, overwhelmed her 
with their solemn import. 

At length, after much conflict, her 
spirit struggled into new life : her resent- 
ment was vanquished ; and one memora- 
ble evening, . while still upon her bended 
knees in prayer, she felt that from her 
heart those that had so cruelly injured her 
were forgiven. 


THE STORY OF MARGARET LISLE. 123 


CHAPTER XIIL 
ARGARET looked forward to no 



results, excepting the peace that would 
attend her own reflections, as likely to re- 
sult from this closing of her long struggle. 
Her life still lay bleak and bare before 
her : no one to take care of her, or even 
provide her with daily bread : no one to 
love her, or call her by any title of kin- 
dred. Alone she must go on her ap- 
pointed way, though that way had now be- 
come almost pleasant to her since she had 
found her efforts at usefulness so valued 
among her companions : no prospect or de- 
sire of changing it came into her thoughts. 
On the contrary, in writing to her friend, 
Mrs. Sherwood, at the end of nearly two 
years, she spoke of having obtained a de- 


124 


FOKGIVENESS; OE, 


gree of rest and peace which, at one time, 
she thought would never be granted to her 
prayers ; and that in her present vocation 
she desired to remain, so long as Friend 
Barton needed her help ; yet still entirely 
unknown to her former protectors. 

In replying to this letter, Mrs. Sherwood 
urged Margaret, as she had vainly done 
more than once already, to visit her at 

N ; and, as a reason which would have 

much weight with her, she mentioned that 
her nephew had packed up his possessions 
and bid them all good-by, with the in- 
tention of going to Europe : he had been 
gone more than a week, so that there was 
no longer the old reason for Margaret’s 
absenting herself from her friend. 

A vacation of the school for a week in 
the month of April had been anticipated, 
by the young teacher, as a period when 
she might dispose of a few of her hours 


THE STOEY OF MARGARET LISLE. 125 

with some reference to the gratification of 
her tastes, besides her multiplied engage- 
ments. Her unremitting industry having 
been the means of increasing her small 
income, while her personal expenses had 
been but few, she now possessed rather 
more money than her self-denying way of 
life demanded, she had, therefore, de- 
signed giving herself the indulgence of a 
visit to one or two painting-galleries, and 
had even ventured to hope that she might 
hear some good music at an afternoon con- 
cert; for her love of music was stronger 
than ever. 

On the reception of Mrs. Sherwood’s 
letter, however, duty came forward again, 
gently putting aside these agreeable visions. 
A request from the friend who had done 
so much for her was the weight of a 
command : her only reason for not having 
visited her before this had been the pres- 


126 


forgiveness; or, 


ence of Mark Holstein in his aunt’s neigh- 
bourhood. He was now gone ; therefore, as 
her heart throbbed with delight on hearing 
this, the duty became a pleasure of the 
highest sort in view of her week for rec- 
reation. 

When the school closed, her travelling- 
bag was once more brought into requisition : 
joyfully packed this time with her simple 
wardrobe,— a gift for Mrs. Sherwood finding 
place in it, however,— and the first cheerful 
journey of her life commenced. 

Strangely free from pain or anxiety were 
the quiet hours passed in the society of 
her valued friend, almost alone; for the 
suspicions of the nieces being again aroused 
regarding Margaret’s motives, they persist- 
ently refused to pay her the slightest at- 
tention, and did not even meet her once 
during her stay. 

Mrs. Sherwood became satisfied, from 


THE STORY OF MARGARET LISLE. 127 

tlie conversation of Margaret, that the 
poor girl had at length found a desirable 
means of providing for herself, and, at the 
same time, of doing much good according 
to her ability ; but, still, having found her 
own happiness greatly increased by once 
having her for a companion, she made a 
strenuous effort to induce her to return to 
the shelter of her roof ; but the recollec- 
tion of the unjust and cruel treatment, 
received two years before from the same 
women who were now showing their un- 
yielding animosity, prevented Margaret 
from gratifying both Mrs. Sherwood’s 
wishes and her own willingness to lead 
the same life which had before been so 
delightful to her: reluctantly, on both 
sides, the subject was dismissed. ITo 
home of rest and ease for the exiled or- 
phan yet, 

Mrs. Sherwood expressed herself freely 


128 


forgiveness; or, 


on the matter of her nephew^s departure 
for Europe. Boston had been his destina- 
tion, with the view of sailing very soon 
from that port. His character had re- 
mained outwardly untarnished ; but from 
the time his aunt had heard from Marga- 
ret what his conduct towards her had been, 
his presence had become so repulsive to 
her, that during his occasional visits she 
could scarcely maintain a polite demeanour 
towards him. Her will had been made ; 
his name was mentioned ; but not as one 
to whom she bequeathed any money. 

The story of his appearance in the 
woods before the unoffending girl was 
listened to with ever-increasing horror 
and indignation ; but the belief was held 
out to Margaret that no further trouble 
could arise from his wicked design, in order 
to prevent her from imagining scenes that 
might never take place He was gone now 


THE STOKY OF MARGARET LISLE. 129 

out of the country, and Margaret need fear 
him no longer. 

At length, all too soon, the comforting 
visit drew to a close: again did Mrs. Sher- 
wood deposit in Margaret’s purse abundant 
evidence of her faithful regard for her com- 
fort, and when Margaret remonstrated, by 
saying she was now quite independent, 
owing to her successful exertions, her 
friend replied, — 

“Put this by then, my dear, for a rainy 
day. These cheeks are too white, and these 
eyes too heavy ; will the sad look never 
go out of them, I wonder? Do not sew 
so unremittingly: the next news I shall 
hear will be that you are going to an ocu- 
list to have your eyes attended to. I want 
you to rest after you get back to hTew 
York, and confine yourself exclusively to 
works of charity, out of your school hours, 
not to plain sewing for money.” 

I 


130 


forgiveness; or, 


Margaret smiled, but promised to do as 
her kind friend requested. It was no small 
trial for her to turn resolutely away from 
the bright, cheerful home which, by* say- 
ing one word, might have been her own ; 
but this trial, like all others, was patiently, 
submissively borne ; and soon after this 
conversation, she said farewell to Mrs. 
Sherwood, and went to the wharf, there to 
await the evening boat. She felt peculiarly 
lonely and very sad : almost regretting 
that she had interrupted the calm routine 
of her former daily life of duty by allow- 
ing herself a sight of her once peaceful 
home with her kind friend. 


THE STORY OF MARGARET LISLE. 131 


CHAPTER XIV. 



HEN the huge steamboat touched 


^ * the wharf, Margaret went on board, 
feeling all the more desolate that it was 
night, and she was wholly without pro- 
tection or escort. Slowly she made her 
way into the crowded saloon, feeling all 
tha embarrassment which so distresses a 
young girl, who has never been accustomed 
to travelling alone, on finding herself ob- 
served by not a few of the passengers. 
Again she felt the pang of utter loneliness, 
with the oflPered shelter unavoidably denied 
to her for the future left farther and farther 
behind at every turn of the wheels. 

The stewardess, being quite satisfied 
when the price of a ticket was placed in 
her hand, immediately followed Margaret 


132 


FOEGIVENESS ; OE, 


to a convenient berth among the few re- 
maining unoccupied, and recommended her 
to make herself comfortable by retiring 
for the night, just as if she was in her 
own room at home. Even these ordinary 
words, repeated to many besides herself, 
who were lonely wayfarers, fell sopthingly 
on the ear of the poor homeless girl. Very 
soon she recovered from her first sense of 
confusion ; her thoughts once more followed 
their accustomed course, — of trust in her 
unfailing heavenly Friend, of humble, 
child-like faith and submission. It was 
this habit of mind that lent such sweet- 
ness of expression to her face as to attract 
all who saw her. 

Seating herself near her berth, resting, 
and beginning her preparations for the 
night, Margaret found herself more than 
once observing a group of mother and chil- 
dren, a short distance from her, who were 


THE STORY OF MARGARET LISLE. 133 

also making themselves ready for sleeping, 
with all the ease and indifference of ac- 
customed travellers. 

At length Margaret’s glance was met 
and returned ; a second mutual gaze was 
quickly exchanged, and the mother, leav- 
ing her little girls to finish their prepara- 
tions, hastily, but softly, passed over to the 
side of Margaret, and gave her a warm kiss 
of recognition. 

“ Oh, Mrs. Blanchard 1” was all Marga- 
ret could say. 

“Yes, my dear, Mrs. Blanchard I am,” 
said the bright little woman; “ but I don’t 
wonder you failed to recognize me in my 
present toilette ; but you, tell me, my dear 
girl, how is it you are here, and alone at 
this time of night? Have you just come 
on board at N ? Where is your be- 

loved Mrs. Sherwood?” 

“ She is at home, ma’am. I have but 
12 


134 


forgiveness; or, 


just left her,” said Margaret, her beautiful 
eyes filling with tears of reawakened regret 
at her lost home ; “ but, oh, Mrs. Blanch- 
ard ! I have gone through deep waters since 
you visited Mrs. Sherwood in the summer 
that I spent with her, when you were so 
very, very kind to me.” 

“You have a story to tell me ; I know 
you have,” said her friend, decidedly. 
“ Stay ; just wait until I dispose of my two 
little girls, who are very sleepy, which I 
am not, and then I’ll sit with you, and 
we’ll have a good talk.” 

Margaret could scarcely believe her Own 
senses ; one moment feeling like a mere 
atom among so many people, utterly alone • 
and in the next taken under the sheltering 
arm of one of the very best and kindest 
of women. 

During the visit of Mrs. Blanchard, to 
which Margaret alluded, while she was 


THE STORY Op'mARGARET LISLE, 135 

with Mrs. Sherwood, it had beea in her 
power to perform various small services 
for that lady, especially in relieving her 
of all care about her children, and success- 
fully entertaining them while their mother 
was obliged to be among her friends, who 
claimed her incessantly. 

At the close of her month’s stay, sub- 
stantial evidence of her gratitude had been 
found in Margaret’s pocket-book, after her 
friend’s departure. 

When the little girls, after begging that 
Margaret might come and kiss them just 
once, were safely laid in their beds, Mrs. 
Blanchard threw her cloak round her, and 
resumed her seat by Margaret. A long 
discourse ensued. Going bach in her his- 
tory to the commencement of her troubles 
from Mrs. Sherwood’s relatives, Margaret 
related all that had passed. More light 
was thrown upon the subject of her en- 


136 


FOKGIVENESS; OR, 


forced departure from so good a home, by 
the quick perception of her friend, in a 
way that Margaret at first could not com- 
prehend, in her guileless ignorance of what 
mischief may be brought about by jealousy 
and malice. 

The employment secured in Friend Bar- 
ton’s school, and the quiet home she had 
selected in St. John’s Court, were all 
spoken of by Margaret freely and with evi- 
dent satisfaction : to every word Mrs. Blanch- 
ard paid close and kind attention. At 
length, taking out her watch, she said, — 

“It is too late for me to say all I want 
to say to-night, but to-morrow I will have 
you under my care, with my husband and 
children, at the hotel, at least for a few 
hours. You have done nobly, my child: 
your trust in an over-ruling Providence 
has been crowned with blessings, notwith- 
standing your repeated trials and discourage- 


THE STORY OF MARGARET LISLE. 137 

merits : you will not always consider your- 
self a homeless wanderer. I have a plan in 
my head : it has been a wish for some time ; 
now, thatihave so unexpectedly discovered 
you, it has become a plan. Do you want 
to oblige me very much ? Or did you sat- 
isfy your conscience in that particular, the 
summer you gave me so much assistance 
with my children at N ?” 

Mrs. Blanchard said this with so intelli- 
gent a meaning, and so gracefully worded 
her request, that Margaret could not but 
reply at once, — 

“My services, dear Mrs. Blanchard, are 
at your disposal, after the hours which 
Friend Barton, my principal, rightfully 
claims from me every day. Now tell me 
what I am to do?” 

“Never mind Friend Barton, my dear 

child. I like her exceedingly, from what 

you have told me ; but vou must not be 
12 * 


138 


FOEGIVENESS ; OR, 


surprised if I say I love you better. It is 
past midnight, though. I cannot tell you 
the rest until we are quiet to-morrow,’’ and, 
with a good-night kiss, Mrs. Blanchard 
suddenly went back to her children. 


THE STOEY OF MAEGAEET LISLE. 139 


CHAPTER XV. 


N the following day, as soon as a quiet 



moment could be obtained, Mrs. Blanch- 
ard made known her wishes to Margaret 
Lisle. She asked for her company, in the 
character of nursery governess for her two 
little girls, during the voyage they were all 
about to undertake, and as long afterwards 
as Margaret could be happy with them. 

No prospect could have been held out to 
the unprotected girl involving such decided 
relief from anxiety for the future; yet, 
remembering the kindness of Mrs. Barton, 
and her obligations to remain with her, 
there was some hesitation in her manner 
and voice when she replied. 

At first, her kind friend seemed disap- 


140 


FOEGIVENESS; OR, 


pointed, — her own heart was so thoroughly 
interested in the decision ; but when Mar- 
garet explained her position more clearly, 
at the same time acknowledging her delight 
with the new arrangement, Mrs. Blanchard 
could only admire her strict conscientious- 
ness. 

After a delightful hour, in which diflB- 
culties were cleared away, and sanguine 
hopes expressed that Margaret could be hon- 
ourably released from her present engage- 
ment, the friends separated. In the evening, 
Mrs. Blanchard was to be informed of Mar- 
garet’s decision. 

When evening came, and the hour that 
had been appointed, Margaret failed to ar- 
rive. Mrs. Blanchard, having no time to 
lose, attended by her husband, at once re- 
paired to St. John’s Court, where, on inquiry, 
they soon found the room in which Mar- 
garet was sitting alone and sad. She had 


THE STOEY OF MAEGAEET LISLE.' 141 

been unwilling to pass through the street 
to keep her appointment, because, on her 
return in the morning, she had heard that 
a man had called twice at the house, during 
her absence at N , inquiring for her. 

Mrs. Dobson had given no information to 
the young man, — not even as to the time 
when Margaret might be expected back. 
Her description of his appearance left no 
room for doubt, in the mind of the poor 
girl, that her enemy, Holstein, had at 
length discovered her abode, and would 
now leave no means untried to disturb her 
'peace ; and this, too, when she supposed 
him on his way to Europe! 

On hearing this intelligence, Mrs. Blanch- 
ard exclaimed, — 

“ Then you will at once remove your- 
self beyond the reach of his influence by 
deciding to join us in our voyage. I am 
sure you will!” 


142 


forgiveness; or, 


Mr. Blanchard urged his wife’s request 
in the kindest manner. He went at once 
with his wife to visit Friend Barton, 
and obtained a kind, though not very 
ready, consent to Margaret’s dismissal : 
her daughter, she said, was very nearly 
old enough to take the same situation in 
the school, and she would not be so selfish 
as to prevent her young friend from doing 
better for herself just for her own pleasure. 
She gave the most satisfactory testimony 
to the unusual worth of her young as- 
sistant, and begged that she would call to 
say “Farewell,” if only for a moment, before 
sailing. 

There remained, now, no further obsta- 
cle to their united wishes ; and gratefully, 
gladly did Margaret give her promise to 
be ready in time for their departure. 

The parting from her humble friends 
in St. John’s Court proved to be her great- 


THE STORY OF ' MARGARET LISLE. 143 

est trial; from poor Mary particularly, 
to whom she had been a true friend and 
helper. The afflicted woman’s life had 
been brightened by Margaret’s ministry. 
Yet there was comfort in the thought 
of being followed, in her new sphere of 
life, by the prayers and blessings of those 
to whom she had come, but two years 
before, an entire stranger. 

The destination of Mr. Blanchard’s family 
was California. As may be imagined, the 
variety of nations, language, and appear- 
ance to be found represented on the ship 
was very great, — for many attractions pre- 
sented themselves to adventurers in that 
gold -renowned country. There were but 
few passengers, however, with whom Mr. 
and Mrs. Blanchard cared to connect them- 
selves sufficiently to become at all intimate. 
One exception did exist : an elderly Eng- 
lish gentleman, of evident respectability. 


144 


forgiveness; or, 


attended by bis servant, appeared greatly 
interested with the children, and from sit- 
ting near the family at table, where his 
conversation was quite entertaining, he 
sometimes joined Margaret and the chil- 
dren on deck. ^ Here, his playful or instruct- 
ive remarks about the different little inci- 
dents that vary the monotony of life at sea 
made him a desirable companion to Edith 
and Juliet. His stories about flying-fish, 
dolphins, sharks, &c. were listened to with 
eager attention : Mother Cary’s chickens 
were always attractive ; and at night the 
little girls loved to be held in his arms to 
look over the stern of the vessel, when 
the phosphorescent lights fell upon the 
broken waves in the ship’s track, scatter- 
ing prismatic colours all abroad ^on the 
water. 

Sometimes the hour at dinner was pro- 
longed over the dessert, by pleasant inter- 


THE STORY OF MARGARET LISLE. 145 

change of opinions between a few of the 
passengers, among whom this English gen- 
tleman was one of the most intelligent. 

The children had been playing with 
their raisins and nuts at dessert, one day, 
and asking his help in opening their Eng- 
lish walnuts for them : it always required 
but very little suggestion from them to 
bring out his remarks on passing things for 
their amusement ; so now he fell to specu- 
lating about these walnuts as he opened 
them : just where they had grown; whose 
door-yard the trees had shaded ; what 
amusement children like themselves, per- 
haps, had found in shaking them down, 
and freeing from their outside hulls, &c. 
Herein lay his power of pleasing children ; 
making so much out of every-day trifling 
things. In the midst of his lively imagin- 
ings, Edith thought she saw a tear glist- 

K 


13 


146 


FORGIVENESS ; OR, 


ening in his eye, as she afterwards told her 
governess. 

In the course of the afternoon, as he 
was walking up and down the deck, he 
drew near his young friends. The two 
children were playing with their respective 
dolls at the feet of Margaret, while she 
was employed in writing. On seeing him 
approaching, Margaret quietly placed her 
paper within the leaves of a book she held ; 
hut the gentlemanly tones, which could not 
give offence, arrested her, — 

“ May I not have the pleasure of a look 
at that poetry. Miss Lisle?” 

Margaret coloured, and replied, “ I do 
not write poetry, sir.” 

Yet surely those lines were not prose: 
I could not avoid seeing their c^racter 
as I approached just now. Come, my dear 
young lady, permit me this small enjoy- 
ment : I will not be a harsh critic.” 


' THE STOEY OF MAKGAEET LISLE. 147 

With characteristic simplicity, Margaret 
replied, though not without a little con- 
fusion, — 

“ Your playful remarks about those 
English walnuts at .the table, sir, are 
merely turned into rhyme. You will find 
nothing new : here they are.” And she 
handed him the paper containing these 
verses, certainly very deficient in poetical 
merit, but carrying out still farther her 
friend’s fancies of a few hours back. 

MY EAELY HOME. 

Lowly will be my tale of truth, 

A tale of sorrow simply told ; 

Strong thoughts have borne me back to youth, 
With force that would not be controlled. 

Beside a sparkling brook, there stands 
A cottage sheltered by a hill ; 

^ 1^’^e wandered far in lovely lands, 

• Yet that sweet cottage haunts me still. 

Its humble, latticed porch I see ; 

Its vine-clad casements, opened wide, 

O’ershadowed by the walnut tree, — 

My father’s warm and honest pride. 


148 


FOEGIVENESS; OE, 


’Twas planted by his grandsire there, 

' When yet a boy, in frolic mood, 

And cherished with a iilial care ; 

Unmoved through winter’s blasts it stood. 

Its ripe brown nuts, a bounteous store. 

Were gathered in with childish glee; 

And by our father prized far more 
Than fruit from many a younger tree. 

We brothers took our brief repose. 

In summer noon, beneath its shade; 

And round its trunk, at daylight’s close, 
Their merry games the children played. 

The quickened pulse of youthful joy 
And guileless mirth again I feel ; 

The hopes and wishes of a boy 
Across my aged bosom steal. 

The setting sun, with sudden gleam. 

Gilds the low porch, the fragrant bower ; 

Then fondly, with his j^arting beam. 

Steals upward to the old church-tower. 

Up through a winding, grassy lane. 

The sweet-breathed cows obedient come : 

While the tired plough-horse, from the pl^r, 
Bears his young master gfadly home. 

But now soft twilight’s shadows fall ; 

The cottage-door is gently closed ; 

And at my father’s w'ell-known call 

Each bright and laughing face composed. 


THE ’STOKY OF MARGARET LISLE. 149 


Oh ! could I hear his accents now, 

In prayer, with all their voices blend, 
These knees, how humbly would they bow, 
That proudly once refused to bend. 

How oft, beneath that sacred roof, 

. I’ve seen my mother’s look of care, 
Soft’ning a father’s just reproof. 

She kneAv my spirit ill would bear. 

Alas! that spirit’s strength and pride 
Doomed me in distant lands to rove: 
Parents and friends alike defied, — 

A self-made exile from their love. 

An English walnut — by a child 

Laid shyly in the old man’s hand — 

Has tlms ray weary thoughts beguiled 
To memories of my nativedand. 

The sudden thought my heart has moved, 
Perchance its distant, parent stem. 
Sprung from the very tree I loved, 

The walnut tree that sheltered them. 

Its kindred soil is mine no more ; 

It dropped, full ripe, on English ground; 
While I, self-banished from that shore. 
Where will my resting-place be found? 

Oh parents ! sisters I lost, yet dear. 
Remembered wheresoe’er I roam. 

No sound can ever greet my ear 

Like the SAveet A'oices of my home. 

1 3 '^ 


150 


forgiveness; or, 


CHAPTER XVI. 

TIRING the reading of the lines, Mar- 



garet, as she occasionally sent a timid 
glance towards him, to find whether he 
was ridiculing them, could not but feel 
astonished on seeing him changing colour, 
and at length stealthily wiping his eyes 
beneath his glasses. 

He did not return the paper, but on 
coming to the end, and evidently going 
over again and again certain of the verses, 
he begged Margaret to allow him to retain 
it in his possession : this she willingly 
granted, and the old gentleman retired to 
his state-room. 

Feeling curiously interested, Margaret 
regretted now that she had parted with 
her verses; for she wished to read them 


THE STOEY OF MAEGARET LISLE. 151 

again herself, and try to discover what 
could possibly have made them so interest- 
ing to Mr. Allston. A very slight effort 
of memory, however, brought them back 
to her mind, and she hastily wrote them 
out once more, for her own use hereafter. 

It was not until the steamer had nearly 
reached Aspinwall that any more light 
was thrown on this circumstance. It then 
happened, that as Mrs. Blanchard and Mar- 
garet were seated together, one afternoon, 
apart from the other passengers, while the 
children were being entertained by their 
father elsewhere, Mr. Allston came and 
joined them, with his usual agreeable con- 
versation, yet with less vivacity. 

Suddenly he remarked, “You must have 
observed that those verses of yours, my 
dear young lady, made a deeper impression 
upon me than you would have supposed; 
did you not ?’^ 


152 


forgiveness; or, 


Mrs. Blanchard looked towards Marga- 
ret in some surprise, but said nothing. 

“Yes, sir,” Margaret replied; “I was 
astonished ; for they appeared to me to be 
very little more than you had yourself 
said in prose, at the dinner-table, without 
being at all affected.” 

“ There was more in them, however,” 
he answered, “ and I will tell you about 
it: but, first, let me explain to Mrs. Blanch- 
ard what the lines were, or, may I read 
them aloud?” 

With a deep blush, Margaret said, “ I 
have no concealments from my friend; al- 
though I never consider what I write as 
sufficiently important to be set before 
her.” 

“Let me hear them by all means, my 
dear,” said kind Mrs. Blanchard. “I was 
not aware that you wrote poetry.” 

“ Oh, no, not poetry,” said Margaret. “Tt 


THE STOEY OF MAEGAEET LISLE. 153 

must not be dignified with tbe name, — > 
ordy rhyme of the simplest sort/’ 

Mr. Allston, in a feeling voice, read the 
verses aloud, giving to the simple subject 
and unadorned language a meaning and 
pathos that ]\Iargaret would not have 
thought they could be made to possess. 

When he had concluded, he said, “Now 
let me confide to you the secret of the 
power these lines have over my mind, yes, 
and over my heart and conscience, too : it 
will be a relief to me to speak, and, I trust, 
you will not be unwilling to listen. From 
such a home as the one here described, — 
not, perhaps, quite so lowly, but just as 
peaceful and beloved — a son of mine ban- 
ished himself, through indulgence in un- 
governed anger, and revolting against 
proper authority. Supposing him to be 
an old man in future years, these are 
the memories and reflections that might 


154 


forgiveness; or, 


in truth arise in his mind. I have had 
more anxiety with that wild boy than 
with all my other children; and I have 
now left New York almost in despair, be- 
cause, after diligent search, I failed to find 
him there as I had hoped. I am now 
going to California, where I hear refugees 
are very numerous, and my hope is to hear 
of him there among the miners.” 

“ Have you no relatives in the United 
States, sir, who could assist you in your 
search?” Mrs. Blanchard inquired. 

“We have connections by marriage, 
whom I have never seen. My wife was 
an American lady, whom I first met in 
France : her family connection was very 
limited ; yet I have been informed that a 
sister of hers, who was with her in Europe, 
afterwards married, and returned to this 
country. She was displeased with her sister 
for uniting herself with me after but a 


THE STORY OF MARGARET LISLE. 155 

brief acquaintance ; and from tlie time of 
my marriage all intercourse ceased be- 
tween them. If the report was correct 
that this lady married a gentleman of 
great wealth, and afterwards became a 
widow, it is by no means unlikely that 
my son sought her out in the hope of suc- 
ceeding to some of her property ; for he 
must be well aware, unfortunate boy, that, 
unless he returns to his home penitent and 
thoroughly reformed, there will be no in- 
heritance for him in England.” 

How was it that to Mrs. Blanchard’s 
mind the recollection of Margaret’s nar- 
rative, in which a young and dissipated 
Englishman held so prominent a position, 
came with powerful distinctness? With 
suspended breath, she continued to listen. 

“ More than three years have passed 
since this misguided boy secretly left his 
father’s house, after resenting a just rebuke 


156 


forgiveness; or, 


whicn I was in duty bound to administer. 
Alas ! there was no gentle mother there 
to soften the reproof, as, in my young 
friend’s imagination of the scene, it may 
have been too severe; though, considering 
the offence, I cannot think so : at all events, 
the consequence was his sudden departure, 
and from that day I have been ignorant 
of his place of abode, but determined to 
try America first in searching for him. 
Forgiveness is a difficult duty; to some 
dispositions extremely difficult. I have 
been long in reaching a state of mind that 
would even admit the idea of possible for- 
giveness : I say it with humility and shame. 
At length a different spirit has been granted 
to my prayers ; and I now feel that I could 
solicit the return of my prodigal son, could 
I but behold his face once more.” 

The countenance of Margaret expressed 
the deepest sympathy with these con- 


THE STOEY OF MAEGAEET LISLE. 157 

eluding words. She, too, -had struggled with 
an unforgiving spirit ; and she, too, had 
known the blessedness arising from being 
able to overcome it. After a serious inter- 
val of silence, Mrs. Blanchard observed, — 
I had almost thought I could give you 
some direction to your missing son ; but 
the name, unless he may have, assumed 
some- other name than yours, discourages 
me.” 

“ What is the name that is in your 
thoughts, madame? — -mine you have 
heard,” — Mr. Allston eagerly asked. 

“It resembles your own, sir: it is 
Holstein.” 

“ My dear madame,” exclaimed the old 
gentleman, rising to his feet, and rapidly 
changing colour ; “ you surely, you cannot 
be trifling with a father’s distress ? What 
is my name but Holstein ?” 

“Pardon me, sir,” said Mrs. Blanchard, 
11 


158 


forgiveness; or, 


in unbounded surprise; “your servant ad- 
dressed you as Allston.’’ 

“My servant; stupid fellow! he has 
more than once placed me in an awkward 
position by his English dropping of the H. 
But Holstein my name is. Now tell 
me ; tell me quickly, madam, — and pardon 
my vehemence, — can you give me any 
hope?” 

It is needless here to repeat what we 
already know about Mark Holstein : con- 
firmation of Mrs. Blanchard’s suspicion 
was freely, thoroughly given by his father, 
whose patience was now sorely tried on 
finding that, in all probability, he had left 
the object of his search behind him in 
New York. But after two days more 
of excited restlessness, listening to all that 
could be told him concerning his erring 
son, — every thing except the worst, which 
neither Margaret nor Mrs. Blanchard 


THE STOKY OF MAEGAEET LISLE. 159 

could find courage to reveal, — lie rejoiced 
to find that the ship had at last reached 
Aspinwall. From there he designed at 
once returning to New York, and proceed- 
ing immediately to the village in New 
England where Mrs. Sherwood resided. 
The voyage had been most important in 
its results to at least one of their num- 
ber. The friends separated, hoping, but 
not expecting, to meet again in this 
world; and Mr. Blanchard, leaving Mr. 
Holstein to take the first return vessel, 
pursued his way across the Isthmus. Mar- 
garet said little, but thought much. 


160 


FOEGIVENESS ; OE,. 


CHAPTER XVII. 

J California, Mr. and Mrs. Blancliard 



established themselves, soon after their 
arrival, in a lovely residence a short dis- 
tance from the chief city, where the ad- 
vantages of climate, delicious fruits, and 
beautiful scenery could not fail to render 
their home at least outwardly attractive. 
But it was not merely an outwardly agree- 
able spot : even under the counteracting 
influences of that newly-organized society, 
and in direct opposition to the custom of 
most of those who mingled with them, 
these professed members of Christ’s church 
on earth established their home on prin- 
ciples of religion. The family altar was 
daily erected, and public services conducted 


THE STORY OF MARGARET LISLE. 161 

each Sunday, by Mr. Blanchard, in a small 
school-house within a mile of his place, — 
unless some travelling minister belonging 
to a Christian denomination might be 
sojourning with him ; his house being 
very soon known as the stopping-place 
of such travellers through that part of 
the state. 

In the daily performance of her plea- 
sant duties towards Edith and Juliet, 
Margaret found her peace of mind return- 
ing: particularly as the keen sense of 
the unmerited severity with which she 
had been treated began to fade from her 
memory, and the remembrance came in- 
stead — partly 'through her present associa- 
tions — of the happy days she had passed 
in former times, in the company of Mrs. 
Grant’s younger children, — walking with 
them, reading to or playing with them, 

telling them stories, and singing their fa- 
L 14* 


162 


forgiveness; or, 


vourite ballads, and fully enjoying all tbeir 
fond affection in return for the efforts she 
made for tlieir entertainment. Henry’s 
face came tlie most vivid before her 
always: he had been so dearly loved, and 
so loving. How could Mrs. Grant have 
supposed, even for one moment, that she 
would neglect those dear children, and en- 
danger their lives by such neglect? She 
recalled the words of poor old David, 
the black coachman, “ the wicked were 
to be confounded, and the ways of the 
righteous to be made plain certainly 
the prophecy had not yet been fulfilled ; 
at least she had known nothing of its ful- 
fillment. But she was conscious of no 
wish for the confounding of any member 
of that family: if it was the will of her 
heavenly Father that in this world she 
was to receive no acknowledgment from 
them that they had treated her unjustly, 


THE STORY OF MARGARET LISLE. 163 

and liad found that her story was the true 
one, then she would try to submit with 
patience, and say, “Thy will be done.’’ Since 
her long struggle had come to an end, and 
the spirit of forgiveness had been vouch- 
safed to her, she now lived a higher, holier 
life. 

Mrs. Blanchard had become only in- 
creasingly dear to her, as the weeks 
and months rolled by ; in no respect had 
she caused Margaret to be less thankful 
for her protection than she was in the 
first moment of relief from loneliness that 
night on the steamboat going to hTew 
York. Yo mother could have guarded 
a daughter more carefully than she did 
the orphan girl whom Providence had 
given to her keeping on that night. , 

Mr. Blanchard cordially responded to 
every measure his wife suggested for the 
comfort or happiness of her ‘’last daugh- 


164 


forgiveness; or, 


ter,” as lie called Margaret : a man of few 
words, he yet abounded in good deeds. 

At the expiration of five years, marked 
by no very special events, but during which 
the chains of mutual regard had been 
drawn closer and closer, and time’s pro- 
gress had shown itself in the growth and 
development both mental and physical of 
Edith and Juliet, — at the end of this time, 
Mr. Blanchard considered it proper to think 
of returning to the East, with a view to 
finishing the education of his daughters. 
His business arrangements could be made 
compatible with his living at a distance, 
now that they were established on a firm 
basis. 

On many accounts the prospect of leav- 
ing their luxuriant country-seat, abounding 
in the richest foliage, and surrounded by 
fruit-trees and vines of their own planting, 
was painful; the.spot had become endeared 


THE STORY OF MARGARET LISLE. 165 

to them all, the children especially; so much 
happiness had been enjoyed there, and no 
bereavements or afflictions of any kind hav- 
ing visited them since their arrival. 

“ We shall always love to talk about 
Silverlake, mamma,” said Juliet, “ even if 
we never see it again.” 

“Yes, darling; just the remembrance 
that you have never been known to shed 
one tear since you came here ought to 
make you feel regret at going away; for 
in the next five years you will hardly be 
so favoured, I am afraid.” 

“ Oh, mamma,” said Edith, “ don’t you 
forget? Juliet and I both cried a great 
many tears when our dear little dog Leon 
died.’ 

“Yes, I had forgotten ; but when you 
come to weep for the loss of some beloved 
relative or friend, dear Edith, you will 
scarcely be able to recall what you suffered 


166 


FOEGIVENESS ; OE, 


in losing a dumb pet. Real sorrow you have 
never yet experienced ; these lovely groves 
will not exclude you from it, ‘however : 
you might know affliction just as intimately 
here as in another home and under other 
circumstances ; so we will not feel as if 
we were leaving a charmed spot into which 
trouble could not penetrate, when we say 
good-by to our sweet home in this charm- 
ing country.’’ 

“ I must collect my chief treasures, 
mamma,” said Juliet, “ and I want to get 
Margaret to help me choose ; for I cannot 
take every thing I value : and I may take 
my parrot, mamma, and Edith may take 
her little dog ?” 

“Oh, yes, certainly, my child ; I cannot 
feel like pulling every thing up by the 
roots in leaving here. Your father is very 
indulgent, you know, and he will make 
some- arrangement for carrying your pets 


TKE STORY . OF MARGARET LISLE. 167 

safely; lie cannot leave his favourite horse 
behind, you remember hearing him say.” 

The packing was begun and gone through 
with, Margaret proving herself so valuable 
in this new vocation, that Mrs. Blanchard 
told her she reminded her of the changes 
in a kaleidoscope, — turn which way you 
will, each new combination seems better 
than the last. 

At length, the first part of their journey 
being accomplished, they arrived at New 
Orleans from Aspinwall. 

There were a few matters compelling 
Margaret to pass out of the St. Charles 
Hotel, where they were staying, and go 
through some of the principal streets. 
Mrs. Blanchard was her companion on each 
of these occasions. No familiar face met 
her eager gaze ; all seemed strange to her: 
not that she had any special reason to ex- 
pect meeting friends ; on the contrary, at 


168 


FOEGIVENESS; OE, 


such times as these her utterly friendless 
condition pressed painfully upon her. There 
was but one gentleman whom she could 
think of meeting with joy, and that was 
Mr. Gtrant, “Uncle Asaph,” as she had been 
taught to call him ; but she could hardly 
expect to find him so far away from home, 
notwithstanding New Orleans seemed so 
near to it after California. 


THE STORY OF MARGARET LISLE. 169 


CHAPTER XYIII. 

rriHE evening before tbe family were to 
. leave tbe city, Margaret bad been out 
for tbe last time, and bad just returned. 
Sbe was now helping Mrs. Blanchard with 
her final packing, and arranging such pur- 
chases as they bad been making, to tbe 
best advantage, when Mr. Blanchard came 
into tbe room, and requested Margaret to 
go with him to a roorn on another floor of 
tbe hotel, as there was a gentleman there 
who begged tbe favour of an interview 
with her. 

They were introduced into a small par- 
lour, where, reclining on a sofa, very pale 
and worn-looking, was a gentleman, who 
attempted to rise, but instantly sank back 
again. 


15 


170 


FOKGIVENESS ; ORj 


Margaret/’ lie said, in gentle, rather 
sad, tones, “ do you not know me?” 

In much confusion, Margaret replied, — 

“ Your voice, sir, I certainly have heard 
before, a long time ago ; can it be ” 

“Harry Bolton?” said the young man. 
“Yes, it can be, and is: now, will you 
shake hands ? I have seen you pass the 
window, and confined as I am to my sofa, 
I could not hope to call on you ; and this 
must be my apology for troubling Mr. 
Blanchard to ask you to come to me in- 
stead.” 

“Have you been here long, Mr. Bolton?” 
Margaret asked, knowing she ought to say 
something, yet feeling such a rush of 
memories and mortifying associations come 
over her, that speech was almost impos- 
sible. 

“ Many weeks,” he replied. “ I have 
been ill here ; but I sent for you to say 


THE STORY OF MAROARE'f LISLE. 171 

more than personal words about myself. 
You will forgive me for carrying your mind 
back to a period that must be painful to 
you to remember; but I, for one, never 
credited for an instant the story that 
caused you to leave Stratford so suddenly. 

“ I found my relatives there obstinately 
bent on receiving the statement of the 
servant who had been intoxicated. So I 
let matters take their course, believing that 
truth would in the end prevail over error ; 
and you were gone beyond recovery, at least 
for the time.” 

“And was the truth ever known?” 
asked Mr. Blanchard. 

“Very soon after my uncle’s return, 
the flagrant misconduct of the servant 
came to his knowledge : she was dismissed 
by him after being charged with the crime 
of falsely accusing this young lady of care- 
lessly setting on Are the children’s room. 


172 • forgiveness; or, 

She was finally brought to confession. 
Your innocence, Margaret, was thus tho- 
roughly established : but not before the 
trouble and sorrow of Mr. Grant had 
thrown him into a state of ill health, from 
which I fear he will never recover, until 
some tidings of your welfare are brought 
to him. He made all around him unhappy 
by his own distress of mind, at the same 
time inquiring and writing in’ many direc- 
tions, hoping to discover your abode.” 

“My poor uncle!” said Margaret; “he 
was always kind and indulgent to me : 
perhaps I did wrong in concealing myself 
from his search. How I wish I might see 
him once more, and Mrs. Grant.” 

“ Mrs. Grant died within the last six 
months. Her two eldest daughters disap- 
pointed her in every way : one by mariy- 
ing a man who was unworthy, and the 
other by refusing the husband her mother 


THE STORY OF MARGARET LISLE. 173 

had insisted on her accepting. They do 
not live at home, and Uncle Asaph is de- 
pendent upon his younger children for all 
the happiness he has, and upon his servants 
for the small amount of daily comfort. 
David has continued faithful to him, how- 
ever ; but for him, I know not what would 
have become of the family.” 

“ Tell me once more; they did acquit me 
of that dreadful charge at last?” said poor 
Margaret, with a sob in her voice not to 
be repressed. 

“ I assure you, my dear friend, you 
stand as unsuspected now of any share in 
that wretched business as if you had not 
been a member of the family when it oc- 
curred : your story was verified in every 
particular. You were not the last to leave 
the nursery, with the candle left in the most 
dangerous position. I felt that you could 
not have been made aware of this good 

15 * 


174 


forgiveness; or, 


news, because the efforts of my uncle have 
so far been utterly unsuccessful to trace 
your residence. I could not let you leave 
New Orleans without telling you myself ; 
those mournful eyes would have haunted 
me if I had ; and hearing from a mutual 
acquaintance that your good friend, Mr. 
Blanchard, expected to leave to-morrow, I 
took the liberty of asking him to allow me 
a personal interview instead of communi- 
cating with you by letter. Are you sorry 
you came, Margaret? and do you forgive 
my boldness?” 

“ Oh, Mr. Bolton ! how can you ask? I 
thank you more than I can express. Your 
words have given me a feeling of rest and 

comfort never known until now ” She 

could say no more. 

Mr. Bolton said, very kindly, — 

“I should love to hear your history 
since you left Stratford ; but I do not ask 


✓ 

THE STORY OF MARGARET LISLE. 175 

it now. I hope to see my friends at the 
ISTorth again: indeed, I may Have to go 
sooner than I now think. Remember 
me most kindly to my uncle, should you 
see him before I do ; and now, Margaret, 
farewell." 

Mr. Blanchard had shown some signs 
of anxiety to withdraw Margaret from 
his room, both because of the increasing 
pallor of Mr. Bolton’s face, and because 
gentlemen were coming in, looking sur- 
prised at a lady’s presence : therefore, after 
a warm grasp of the hand, they left the 
young man lying back on his sofa, and 
returned to their own apartments. 

The state of mind following this most 
comforting intelligence, gave Margaret 
strength to endure all the fatigue and 
discomfort of their homeward journey, — 
part of which was by land. How thank- 


176 


forgiveness; or, 


ful did slie now feel that she had been able 
to forgive her enemies, — particularly since 
hearing of the death of Mrs. Grant; and 
how tenderly did her thoughts go forward 
to her uncle in his lonely condition. 


THE STORY OF MARGARET LISLE. 177 


CHAPTER XIX. 

rriHE prospect before Margaret Lisle, 
on arriving at the end of her homeward 
journey, was not encouraging. The children, 
who had been under her charge for five 
years, and to whom she had become strongly 
attached, were now to be placed in a 
large school for the finishing of their edu- 
cation in languages, music, &c. This, of 
course, deprived their former governess 
of a certain means of support. With 
Mrs. Blanchard, Margaret felt herself to be 
assured of a home so long as she would 
accept it; but, much as she loved her 
friend, such a life would be one of too 
much self-indulgence for her. Her desire 
was to maintain herself in some respecta- 

M 


178 forgiveness; or, 

Lie occupation,— not to be a burden on ber 
friends. 

No message or letter came to ber yet 
from Mr. Grant, notwitbstanding the per- 
mission wbicb Harry Bolton had received 
to communicate with bis uncle regarding 
bis ward, and also to give bim tbe address 
of Mr. Blanchard. Margaret’s heart turned 
towards ber uncle with tender sympathy, 
since she bad beard of bis trials and be- 
reavement; yet she could not feel author- 
ized in going to bis bouse again unless 
sent for by bim. 

Several weeks bad now elapsed since 
tbe return of Mr. Blanchard and bis 
family to New England. They bad rented 
a pleasant residence within a short distance 
of the school in which the children were 
to be placed, and were quietly established 
there. 

Finding she could render no farther 


THE STOKY OF MAEGAEET LISLE. 179 

assistance, Margaret then proposed to Mrs. 
Blanchard that she should make a short visit 
to her first friends, the good pastor and his 
wife, Mr. and Mrs. Somers. 

Mrs. Blanchard saw the propriety of 
her doing so, and instantly suggested that 
she and her husband should escort her 
there, — finding, with no difficulty, some 
excellent reason for making a visit in that 
neighbourhood. They would remain at 
the hotel, and attend to their own occu- 
pation, while Margaret made her visit. 
This act of loving care gave the poor young 
girl, by contrast, a foretaste of the lone- 
liness that was in store for her when her 
connection with these kind friends should 
be entirely dissolved, and, her duties as 
the children’s governess having ceased, 
she would be obliged to mark out some 
fresh path in the world to tread unaided 
and alone. 


180 FORGIVENESS ; OR, 

Yet, now that her heart was no longer in 
an unforgiving state, and when her inno- 
cence had been made manifest to those 
who had injured her, why should she per- 
mit anxiety for the future to overshadow 
her sense of present comfort? The ingra- 
titude of dwelling on the dark side only 
of her lot, after so much mercy had been 
extended to her, impressed her mind sen- 
sibly : the trouble was at once discarded 
therefore, and, with no shade upon her 
fair, open brow, she came into the pre- 
sence of the beloved friends who had been 
the first to receive her in her outcast 
condition. 

Time had whitened the head of the good 
minister, and had taken away some of the 
sprightliness and activity of his beloved 
wife : yet they were full of life and earnest- 
ness still, — delighted to receive Margaret 
again, and ardent in their solicitations that 


THE STORY OF MARGARET LISLE. 181 

she should come and he a daughter to them 
in their declining years. 

The whole of the first evening was de- 
voted to hearing a minute account of all 
that had befallen their young friend since 
the day on which she had left the house 
of Mrs. Sherwood. The next morning, 
Margaret begged in return to hear all that 
could be told concerning the family at 
Stratford. Her desire to visit them was 
made known : a silence followed the words. 
At length Mrs. Somers informed Margaret 
that since Mr. Grant was absent, it would 
be better to make the visit at some future 
time, after his return. The house was 
nominally kept by Mary, the unmarried 
daughter; but she was almost constantly 
away from home, — no one seemed to know 
where ; and quite lately a governess for 
the two girls had been obtained by the 

boys, who seemed painfully sensible of the 
16 


182 


FOKGIVEJ^TESS ; OE, 


disadvantages to their sisters arising from 
such neglect. 

Henry retained the hope that better 
times might be in store for them ; but the 
family had certainly lived in great con- 
fusion and discomfort, — David alone, of all 
the servants, remaining faitliful, and he 
often the only one for weeks together. 

Margaret decided to follow the advice 
of her friends and not go to Stratford ; her 
visit might be misconstrued. 

But what was her delight, at the close 
of the morning, to see her once loved 
Henry ride up to the parsonage-gate. 
Eight years had passed since she had left 
him, a bright-eyed, rosy-cheeked boy of 
five years old : now he was a tall, manly 
lad, promising great beauty of appearance 
both in face and form. The meeting was 
a joyful one; for Henry had never forgotten 
his dear companion and playmate, and well 


THE STORY OF MARGARET LISLE. 183 

remembered the sad day when he parted 
from her at the end of the avenue. 

Mr. and Mrs. Blanchard found leisure 
more than once to join Margaret -in the 
society of her friends : congeniality in lite- 
rary pursuits and tastes, but more especi- 
ally unity of spirit in regard to religion, 
drew the ties of friendship, among all, 
closer and closer during the week of their 
stay. Mrs. Blanchard perceived more 
clearly than Margaret that the infirmities 
of age were stealing upon both the pastor 
and his wdfe : she saw how valuable to 
them both Margaret would be as a daugh- 
ter, and that before long. Their cheer- 
fulness and untiring zeal in doing good 
could not entirely conceal their want of 
physical strength, or prevent the occasional 
infirmities and illnesses which made them 
dependent on each other for assistance. 
Therefore, when Margaret was again ur- 


184 


forgiveness; .or, 


gently entreated to come to the parsonage, 
and establish herself there as a daughter 
of the house, relieving her friends of all 
anxiety and care either in health or sick- 
ness, Mr. Blanchard cordially sustained the 
request. 

Margaret required hut a short time for 
deliberation. When she recalled the day 
of her banishment from Mr. Grant’s house, 
the course of events led her thoughts very 
quickly to the time of her arrival at Wake- 
field ; the welcoming step of Mrs. Somers, as 
she hastened down to open the gate for her 
to enter in and rest; the kind, fatherly re- 
ception of the pastor ; the perfect confidence 
reposed in her statements of what had 
caused her to leave Mr. Grant’s house ; 
the hand laid in blessing on her head, and 
the prayers offered up for her safe guidance, 
— how could she hesitate for one moment in 
deciding to accede to their wishes to come 


THE STORY OF MARGARET LISLE. 185 

and cheer their declining days, and to be 
a support in their feeble steps as they ad- 
vanced in age ? Margaret was still young 
and in firm health ; her strength and energy, 
guided by the counsel and wisdom of her 
friends, might come in place of theirs, for 
the comfort of the house and the welfare 
of the parishioners. There was no desire 
felt by the young girl for the gaieties of 
life now, more than in her first experience 
of unhappiness : cheerful and calm always, 
there was yet no mirthfulness about her 
spirit at any time. From a sense of de- 
sertion and loneliness, her eyes had acquired 
a saddened expression, — wistful and tender 
— causing the impression on others that she 
had known deep trial in time past. This 
expression had become fixed ; but it did 
not detract from the beauty and interest- 
ing character of her countenance. 

The decision was made. For the future, 
16 * 


186 


FOEGIVENESS; OE, 


SO far as could be arranged now, Mar- 
garet’s home was to be with Mr. and Mrs. 
Somers. Their gratitude to her for resign- 
ing the outside world, in order to devote 
herself to, them in their seclusion and old 
age, was touching to witness. 

Mrs. Blanchard could not disguise her 
own regret at losing the society of Margaret, 
whom she dearly loved: she- was too un- 
selfish, however, to allow her own claims 
to interfere with those still stronger, which 
she considered Mr. and Mrs. Somers had 
upon her time and loving duty. Besides, 
she and her husband were in the prime of 
their lives, and Margaret, to them, would 
make them happy by her society only ; 
her old friends needed her. 

With the promise of seeingher frequently, 
and of keeping bright the chain of the 
new friendship formed with the pastor and 
his wife, she and her husband left Marge- 


THE STORY OF MARGARET LISLE. 187 

ret at the parsonage, safe, and happy in 
the prospect of being useful. 

The life now commenced by the orphan 
girl was one of tranquillity: her thoughts 
were peaceful as her actions were dutiful 
and kind. 

Through her correspondence with her 
brother-in-law, Mrs. Sherwood renewed 
her intercourse with Margaret. 

From these letters it was made mani- 
fest that the selfish and cruel designs of 
her nieces had thus far remained unful- 
filled. Their aunt, whose value to them 
was estimated only by the amount of 
money she possessed, continued in the en- 
joyment of health and all of life’s bless- 
ings; one of the greatest of which she 
considered to be the ability to rgjieve want 
and suffering in any way that lay in her 
power. 

Margaret had quietly performed the 


188 


forgiveness ; or, 


gradually increasing duties belonging to 
her position rather more than a year: 
giving more and more reason to her friends 
for gratitude to their loving Father in 
heaven for sending them this daughter in 
their old age. Her only disappointment 
had been that no letter had yet reached her 
containing intelligence of Mr. Grant. 

The fear was taking possession of her 
mind that he had been displeased with her 
for concealing her place of residence from 
him, and thus raising with her own hand 
the barrier to their reunion. During the 
year she had more than once been visited 
by the younger children, — Henry particu- 
larly. Their father was always reported 
as absent, — most of the time in Europe, 
even in Egypt and the Holy Land ; always’ 
moving and very restless. The children 
were evidently leading a life of great free- 
dom from restraint. Since the arrival of 


THE STORY OF MARGARET LISLE. 189 

a governess for the little girls, who was a 
lady of excellent principles, the danger from 
so much liberty of action was much lessened. 
Her influence was good, and more willingly 
submitted to than might have been sup- 
posed. 

Margaret could not but yearn over them 
all, remembering their childhood and the 
different traits of character which dis- 
tinguished them during the years when 
her care over them was a pleasure in her 
lonely life. There was nothing in her 
power to do for them now ; and her only 
prospect of being of any service to them at 
all could not be contemplated without 
pain, because her liberty to go to them 
could never be attained before the death of 
the dear friends who depended on her now 
for daily comfort ; after that — but here 
her thoughts generally stopped ; the sub- 


190 


FOEGIVENESS ; OR, 


ject was too sad, too painful to her inmost 
feelings of love and reverence. 

On her return, one morning, from an 
errand for Mr. Somers among some of his 
parishioners, Margaret found her old 
friend standing on the porch, awaiting her 
arrival with anxiety. Telegraphic des- 
patches were not of frequent occurre/ice in 
the village of Wakefield, — indeed there was 
no office there ; but in the next town there 
was an office, and from that had been for- 
warded to Mr. Somers by Mr. Blanchard, 
who had first received it, a despatch in- 
tended for Margaret. 

Mrs. Somers, with her usual active zeal, 
tenderly interested, and anxious to prevent 
Margaret from being too suddenly alarmed, 
stood near ready to soothe her, if she should 
be overcome by the contents of the telegram. 

It was to summon Margaret to a small 
wayside station on one of the leading 


THE STORY OF MARGARET LISLE. 191 

railroads from Boston, where Mr. (Jrant 
was lying wounded, — a victim to one of 
the terrible accidents which sweep off so 
many from our land. The few words con- 
veyed the impression that his condition 
was a very dangerous one; and the des- 
patch was written by Harry Bolton. It 
was affecting to see the return of strength 
to cheer, and loving efforts to console, 
which now came to Mrs. Somers : she was 
the active power in this new eniergency, 
and Margaret was for awhile completely 
prostrated by grief and apprehension. 

The desire to go at once to her uncle 
suddenly gave her strength : her friends 
rendered every assistance. A carriage was 
sent for; Mrs. Somers filled her travelling- 
bag, putting in such medicines and cordials 
as her experience suggested for possible 
use. 

Margaret, in the midst of her hurry and 


192 


FOEGIVENESS; OE, 


confusion, remembered tbe lonely condition 
of those she was so hastily leaving, and 
begged that they would request a kind 
friend living not far off* to come and stay 
in the house with them until her return. 
This was promised, and now all was ready, 
Margaret, accompanied by Mr. and Mrs. 
Somers, was driven to the railroad station, 
some miles away ; fro:^ there her journey 
would be alone. 

The following morning found her at the 
sad scene which was the place of her des- 
tination. The upper room, in a private 
dwelling-house, had been given up to the 
wounded persons, four or five in number, 
who were too much injured to bear re- 
moval. 

Taking off her bonnet down-stairs, Mar- 
garet went up to the chamber. The sight 
that met her earnest, searching gaze was 
very sad; quite enough to weaken the nerves 


THE STORY OF MARGARET LISLE. 193 
of most delicate women. But Margaret 

O 

had come filled with the loving purpose 
of nursing her dear uncle, and of saying 
such things to him as might give him 
comfort, after their long separation ; her 
nerves were kept quiet by her warm, throb- 
bing heart and firm will. On each of the 
beds, there lay the figure of a suffering 
man, so disguised by plasters, bandages, 
<&c., that Margaret could not distinguish 
one from another. Mr. Bolton, had gone 
to bring another physician. At length she 
thought her name was feebly uttered, and 
turning, asked, “Did I hear the name of 
Margaret ?” 

“Do you not know me in my wounds 
and bandages, my child ?” These words 
came faint and slow. 

“ Oh, uncle, uncle ! have I found you 
at last? and in such suffering ! Oh, what 


17 


194 


FOEGIVENESS; OK, 


can I do for you?” poor Margaret ex- 
claimed, trying to keep back her tears. 

“ I am better now ; my wounds have 
been dressed ; but my pain has been very 
great.” 

His words came with difficulty, and his 
breathing seemed much oppressed. Marga- 
ret, therefore, to save him fatigue, seated 
herself close to his narrow couch, and tak- 
ing his hand in her own, tried to answer 
the brief but earnest questions, concerning 
herself, in a cheerful voice, resolving to 
keep back the emotions that nearly mas- 
tered her, until she had given him all the 
comfort that her words could give on ’the 
subject nearest to his thoughts. 

In broken sentences he made her under- 
stand that life had no longer any attrac- 
tions to him ; trouble had followed his 
family from the time of her unjust banish- 
ment from his house. He had promised 


THE STORY OF MARGARET LISLE. 195 

her mother, on her dying bed, that his 
house should always be her daughter’s 
home; and that promise had been unful- 
filled. 

Long did it take the dying man to make 
Margaret, in faltering words, understand 
that sorrow on her account had destroyed 
his happiness; and that his domestic com- 
fort being utterly broken up, — hopelessly 
so since the death of his wife, — he had 
almost longed for death to relieve him from 
care and sorrow ; yet he desired to say, — 
God’s will, not mine, be done.’^ 

It was with intense happiness that Mar- 
garet assured her uncle that the past had 
all been long forgiven. Her sufferings, she 
said, in consequence of Mrs. Grant’s mis- 
taken judgment, had been very great for 
a time ; but kind friends had been raised 
up for her, and for a long period she had 
known but one trouble : that had been 


196 


FOEGIVENESS; OE, 


owing to her own resentful state of mind. 
At length forgiveness of those who had 
cast her out, friendless, had come like soft 
balm upon her heart. It was not of her- 
self the blessing came, but the Holy Spirit 
had so wrought upon her conscience, that 
in remembering how much more the Sa- 
viour of sinners had had to forgive, and 
how freely he had done it, she could see 
her duty plainly to walk in his footsteps. 

The brightening gaze of the earnest eye 
bore witness to the feeling with which her 
uncle listened to these words. 

After a short pause, he pressed the hand 
he held more tightly, and murmured almost 
inarticulately, “ My will — it is in that — do 
you understand?” 

“Yes, dearest uncle, I think I do,” Mar- 
garet answered ; “ you mean that you have 
taken care of me for the future.” 


THE STORY OF MARGARET LISLE. 197 

“I do,” he said; ‘‘now tell me again; 
you forgive her?” 

Oh, fully, freely, dear uncle. When 
we all meet in heaven, we shall be happy 
together. I have no enemy now in the 
world. I love every one as my brother 
or my sister.” 

“Yes,” replied her uncle, slowly, “love, 
it is all love in heaven. • Bid them good- 
by ; remember the children, * and Harry, 
How pray for me, dear child ” 

This was said in so low a tone that Mar- 
garet could scarcely understand the words ; 
but, kneeling down, with his hand still in 
hers, she softly commended his soul to God, 
whether in life or death. Silence followed ; 
for she thought her uncle slept, he breathed 
so tranquilly. In a few minutes, however, , 
the physician who was in attendance came 
to his side: on taking his hand, he gave 

a sudden inquiring look at the face, then 
17 * 


198 


FOBGIVENESS; OK, 


said very gently to Margaret, “he will not 
speak again ; he is now unconscious, but I 
trust free from pain forever.” 

At that moment Margaret felt more 
thoroughly bereaved and alone than at the 
beginning of her desolate career : the only 
one among her mother’s relatives who had 
ever shown her kindness or really loved 
her was now, just as she had been reunited 
to him, lying in the clasp of death before 
her. Could she have known how the sting 
of death had been removed for her beloved 
uncle by the words she had breathed into 
his dying ear, her own sorrow would have 
been mitigated. 

There came a time when she was made 
more intimately to know the comfort she had 
conveyed, and that was when she read the 
clause in her uncle’s will wherein her name 
was mentioned ; had he died without hear- 
from her own lips that she had forgiven 


THE STORY OF MARGARET LISLE. 199 

ills wife, those written words would have 
haunted her memory ever after, like a fune- 
ral knell. 

The physician who came back with Mr. 
Bolton found Mr. Grant beyond the reach 
of his skill. 

Margaret returned to the parsonage on 
the third day after leaving it. All that 
affection could do in ministering to her sad 
heart was done by her beloved friends ; 
and truly grateful did she feel for their 
presence, and for such a home. One day, 
before the funeral of her uncle, she spent 
with the poor orphan children at Stratford. 
The excellent lady who was their com- 
panion proved lierself at this time of dis- 
tress to be a treasure in every way to them 
all. Knowing that she was so capable in 
ordering and arranging, as well as truly 
sympathizing in the sorrow of her young 
friends, Margaret found her anxieties on 


200 


forgiveness; or, 


their account much lessened for the present 
time ; but she could not lose sight of their 
future. 

Mr. Grant’s funeral took place from his 
own sad home ; and everybody said he died 
of a broken heart. 


THE STOEY OF MAEGARET LISLE. 201 


CHAPTER XX. 


HE conversation, one evening, in the 



warm, pleasant parlour of the parson- 
age, turned, as it frequently did, upon the 
ordering of God’s providence, as displayed 
in the eventful life of Margaret, now brought 
so peacefully to a happier condition. 

“Many persons have said to me,” said 
Mr. Somers, “that, in the singular and 
close connection between the troubles that 
befell Mr. Grant’s family, and the unkind 
censure of their relative, and her dismissal 
from their house in such extreme youth, 
they could not but see the judgment of the 
Almighty.” 

“And is this your own belief?” asked 
his wife. 


202 


forgiveness; or, 


“ Oh, I hope not !” interposed Margaret : 
“it seems so dreadful to think of.’’ 

“ Well, my daughter, these are mysteries 
that of course we cannot penetrate : under 
God, human nature is governed by human 
motives and actions. My own opinion 
is that if Margaret had been removed 
from that house by some gentle agency, 
or even by the hand of death, the after 
condition of that unhappy family would 
have been the same.” 

“ How can you suppose that, my dear 
husband?” said Mrs. Somers, “when it 
seemed to be directly owing to the anger 
and irritation of Mr. Grant on finding at 
his return that his wife had been so cruel 
to his ward, that the estrangement between 
them commenced, ending in her living so 
much away from home, and this again lead- 
ing to the neglect of her daughters, and 
their turning out so badly.” 


THE STORY OF MARGARET LISLE. 203 

“My dear wife, — I say it without wish- 
ing to speak more unkindly than truth 
demands, now that she has gone to her ac- 
count, — Mrs. Grant, was a woman whose 
principles of action had their root in this 
world only. I know nothing of her latter 
; you remember she died many hun- 
dred miles away from home. She may 
have found the peace which follows repent- 
ance : I trust she did : but at the time 
when Margaret was reluctantly admitted 
into her family, this poor, misjudging wo- 
man became possessed of the most intense 
jealousy regarding her. Our dear, old 
hospital nurse here, ‘ the lady in gray,’ or 
‘ the lady with the lamp,’ as I hear she 
used to be called, — as Florence Nightingale 
had been by the soldiers, — will forgive me 
if I say that in her early days she gave 
promise of much beauty : had it been 
otherwise, perhaps Mrs. Grant would have 


204 


FOEGIVENESS; OE, 


been more gentle in her treatment. Her 
own (laughters, though by no means plain, 
had not the same refinement of appearance 
that marked Margaret’s youthful face and 
form. It has always been a marvel to me 
how my dear friend Grant could have 
united himself with Qne so essentially defi- 
cient in the traits of true nobility and re- 
finement, which the woman who was his 
wife should have possessed.’^ 

“She was considered very handsome, my 
dear, as a young lady,” said Mrs. Somers; 
“ but the acquaintance was short, — not long 
enough for her true character to make itself 
known ; so I have been told.” 

“ That must account for it then, I sup- 
pose ; but what I wanted to say was this : 
even if Margaret had not been there to fur- 
nish the cause for disunion in the family, 
another trial of temper would soon have 
been found, leading to precisely the same re- 


THE STOKY OF MAEGAEET LISLE. 205 

suit, — separation and discord. Her daugh- 
ters were brought up in the same love of 
the world and the flesh with their mother ; 
their characters were modelled after the 
pattern of hers. How could we expect any 
other results than those which have so dis- 
astrously arisen to blight the happiness of 
the younger children ? ‘ Can men gather 

grapes of thorns, or figs of thistles ?’ Had 
Margaret not been expelled from her un- 
cle’s family much might have been spared 
them in the way of trial, because her child- 
hood had been watched over by the most 
careful and tender of mothers, who had in- 
stilled principles of pure religion into her 
young mind. Margaret’s influence was 
felt in that house : so decidedly felt, that 
I have no doubt that her life was rendered 
all the more unhappy by reason of it ; for 
' the natural heart,’ as we all know, ‘ is 
enmity against God.’ Eeligious truths 


206 


FORGIVENESS ). OR, 


and the silent example of a religious life 
produced a feeling of opposition towards 
her, making the society of the warm-heart- 
ed children the only society in which she 
could find any real satisfaction ; and there 
her influence was strong for good alone. 
Those three, two boys and one little girl, 
will be very different in character from 
their unhappy sister : early association has 
done much for them already.” 

This conversation tended to increase the 
desire Margaret had long felt that she 
•might yet renew her care of these young 
persons : her love for them had never 
known any diminution through all the 
changes of her varied life. 

During the remaining years of Mr. and 
Mrs. Somers, Margaret continued her grate- 
ful duty of smoothing for them their path 
towards another world, cheered very fre- 
quently by letters and visits from her be- 


THE STORY OF MAEOAEET LISLE. 207 

loved friends, Mrs. Sherwood and Mr. and 
Mrs. Blanchard, with their daughters. 

Mrs. Somers’s departure was followed, 
after hut a short interval, by the death of 
her husband: it seemed meet that they 
should not long be separated. As soon as 
Margaret again found herself without an 
object of love and care, she determined to 
carry out the plan so frequently thought 
of, — and that was to establish herself in a 
suitable house and situation and gather 
round her the children of Mr. Grant, in 
order to devote herself to their comfort 
and happiness. 

Most gladly did they obey the call. Hen- 
ry, the second in age, had just reached 
his eighteenth year. The little Annette, 
who had been only an infant when Mar- 
garet kft the house of her uncle, was now 
fourteen, just at an age when judicious 
guidance was of the greatest consequence 


208 


forgiveness; or. 


in the formation of her character. Bessie, 
two years older, being of a lively disposi- 
tion, required a gently restraining hand to 
lead her in the safest ways. She was too 
young at the time Margaret had first loved 
and caressed her, for her to have any re- 
membrance of her ; but having heard her 
brothers, particularly Henry, speak of 
Margaret with the most devoted affection, 
she gladly acquiesced in the plan of resid- 
ing under her care, and enjoying with her 
a permanent and peaceful home. 

The active and useful energy of their 
faithful friend provided such a home for 
these neglected young persons as they had 
never known before : their first knowledge 
of true domestic happiness was experienced 
after Margaret brought them to be her 
wards. 

For the sake of her dear uncle, — their 
lamented father, — no toil or fatigue seemed 


THE STORY OF MARGARET LISLE. 209 

too severe, no efforts too great, to bring 
comfort or pleasure to her young family. 

When David, Mr. Grant’s coloured coach- 
man, found himself remembered by Mar- 
garet, and urged to become a member of 
her domestic establishment, his happiness 
was complete. Years in their passage 
seemed to have brought no mark of in- 
firmity in the strong, capable serving-man. 
He found ample occupation in keeping the 
garden in order, providing the wood for 
fuel, (fee. ; and from the day he entered upon 
the duties of his new home, his youth 
seemed to be renewed. Love and grati- 
tude to his young mistress were the main- 
springs of duty with him ; and his careful 
interest in every thing was almost like that 
of a regular steward, — much increasing the 
facilities of Margaret’s housekeeping. 

The life of Margaret Lisle, the orphan 

girl, never had appeared so valuable, and 
0 18 * 


210 


FOEGIVENESS; OE, 


SO sweet to herself, as in this period, when 
she had undertaken the charge of orphans. 
Her natural buoyancy of character, long 
crushed in her youth, now regained the 
ascendency. 

Music in abundance now gladdened her 
heart; her old fondness for it being indulged 
by all the children, each one of whom 
possessed musical taste and talent. The 
old times’ custom was revived of singing 
at twilight : favourite hymns were recalled 
and sung now with them, instead of for 
them as formerly. 

The eldest son, soon after completing 
his college course, communicated his deci- 
sion to study for the ministry. Henry re- 
mained still a student close to his home ; 
white Annette and Bessie clung fondly to 
Margaret, brightening the hours by their 
wit and loving sprightliness. 

One other humble friend, besides David, 


Jforgt&encss, 



“Henry remained still a student, close to his home, while Annette 
and Bessie clung fondly to Margaret.” p. 210. 




I 


I 


I 






* 





•U> '■-.^!^:!'.I 


Vf 


If -. V * 


■ ■ w 

/ 'V 


.. l '*- *• 
'* ■ 




, , -r.rvi^v.v-^ . 

3 


>f - 


- i - *•* 

47 ^ n »* 




(► - t> I lic 

J ■'■ 

I' ^.a 

4 **».,‘^^ • A .'* . 

*' •:* .n^.; . 

■ * « 


V*'- 

ri . 


* ir ^ : ' , 


» 




V-«- 


*'»* U»l . 

• * 








til> 




\ 






At 




V 


■**.. 


f' 


r 


. 4 |’^- 

'■ ■ Ji . 




V 




IJ' 

4 


• « 




*• » 


%■ 


■r: ' 


A.' 

^ r • “ 

^i: 

Sr ' r^t 


F. 

-I*. 




-• w 








*♦ - 4 ^ 




, 

v« 

'' f -< ■-. 

N 


-s^i 'IC • 


* r . ' 

V 


n 






\ 





*': 


'S*: 


lit !' 


t k 




-'"it- 

rSv '‘ 

’ *»'. 




a; --, ■^’ 

■ W - 

'>■' -f' 

\^T - • ■ / 





# •• 

•r 


• *k^ 


4i 


'„- -j 




• 

.#1 


4t 




A 



'M* 


• A 


. Jil 1 f > 


• ■•w ^(•■^* tA #« 


i.tfi i 


I • 


< •. 


< 


I 


THE STORY OF MARGARET LISLE. 211 

was sought out for the purpose of gilding 
to a life of much deprivation some final 
years of comfort. This was Mary Jones, 
the woman in St. John’s Court, who had 
suffered from trouble in her eyes, and to 
whom Margaret had given such happiness 
by reading to her of evenings. Mary had 
regained her sight and health, through the 
long rest enforced upon her eyes, and the 
success of the surgeon’s remedies. A 
pleasant room was given to her; and 
it may well bo imagined that Margaret 
had no assistant more faithful and affec- 
tionate. 

It was Margaret’s pleasure frequently, 
when the day’s work was done, to spend 
a quiet hour in her room, reviewing with 
Mary the way by which she had been led 
through years of varied trial mingled with 
periods of comparative rest and happiness. 
She told her attentive listener that the two 


212 


FORGIVENESS. 


years she had passed in St. John’s Court 
were far from being the least happy of her 
life, although to outward appearance the 
most trying. 

In recalling her spiritual condition while 
there, she had not been discouraged : it 
had been a time of waiting for further 
light to be shed upon her way. 

“Yes, Mary,” said Margaret, rising from 
one of these interviews, one evening, “ I 
love to repeat to myself that beautiful 
hymn of Oowper’s, which you know so 
perfectly, particularly the concluding verse. 
I have felt its truth. 

‘His purposes will ripen fast, 

Unfolding every hour: 

The bud may have a bitter taste. 

But sweet will be the flower.’ 


THE END. 


MISSIONARY WORK 


OF THS 



This Society has a Missionary Department, en- 
tirely distinct from the Publishing House, which is 
wholly engaged in the work of reaching the neglect- 
ed portions of the country. 

Its Work is — 1st. To send missionaries to the 
destitute portions of the older States, and on the 
western frontiers, and to the still more destitute 
South; who, by personal effort, shall gather the 
children and youth, and look up teachers competent 
to instruct them into Bible schools. 

2d. This involves visitation from house to house, 
looking up ‘professing Christians, who are too timid 
or too indifferent to engage in active Christian work, 
harmonizing estrangements, reconciling denomina- 
tional prejudices, and uniting the few scattered dis- 
ciples in the common work and love for the children. 

3d. A permanent, self-sustaining service is thus 
organized, where, in many cases, no other religious 
organization is practicable, or even possible. It 
sets the idle at work, raises up new labourers, en- 
courages and aids those already in the work, lays 
the foundation for the future Church, while the dear 
children, too, are led to Christ. One missionary 
will often organize 30 to 50 new schools in a single 
year, gathering in hundreds of children and set- 
ting scores of teachers at work. 

PROGRESS AND RESULTS. 

For nearly 50 years this Society has been with 
the advance guard on the frontier, planting the Sun- 
day-school standard, around which many Churches 
have been gathered. 

Fully 50,000 schools have been organized, and 
over 2,600,000 children gathered into them, by the 
labourers of the Society. 



PRESENT NEED. 

The call for its work has never been more impera- 
tive than now. The rapid growth and develo^jment 
of the nation; the munificence of the government 
to pioneer settlers; the spars'e population in many 
localities, and the immense immigration, create a 
demand for union Sunday-school missionary labour 
never before equalled. 

IN 1869 AND 1870 

1,285 new schools were organized, having 7,909 
teachers, and 65,153 scholars. 4,250 other schools 
were visited and aided, in which were 32,497 teach- 
ers, ami 273,545 scholars. 

The labourers of the Society should be increased 
ten-fold, and if those who love the children lend a 
helping hand, this will be done. 

All may have a part in this Christ-like service, 
by giving of their means. Any contribution, how- 
ever large or small, will help save some neglected 
child, for whom the Saviour shed his blood. Parents 
and children, teachers and officers, rich and poor, 
may all help to save the neglected children. A 
Sunday-school class may provide means to organize 
a new school, and name it if they wish. A Sunday- 
school may unitedly contribute to the support of a 
missionary, and receive a report directly from him. 
Frequently a wealthy gentleman or lady supports 
a missionary, and thus, though they cannot go into 
the work themselves, th^y organize from 30 to 50 
schools each year, and bless many hundred children, 
who will rise up in judgment and bless them. 

Correspondence and contributions may be sent to 

M. A. WURTS, Secretary of Missions, 1122 Chestnut Street, 
Philadelphia; or, 

From New York, to J. B. TYLER, 10 Bible House, N. Y. 
From New England, to Rev. H. CLAY TRUMBULL, Hart- 
ford, Connecticut. 

From the South, to Rev. JOHN McCULLAGH, Henderson, 
Kentucky. 

From the South-west, to Rev. WM. P. PAXSON, 207 North 
Sixth Street, St. Louis. 

From the North-west, to F. G. ENSIGN, 3 Custom House 
Place, Chicago, 111. 









•w r 


.r 

* ( 


» -v H 

.V « I 


i 


I 


1 « • - « * • ^ • • 

• ' , f t. ' .V ' .. • • 


■■■A' ■':>/ 

t ' * ^ 




». V > 
•\ 


•ir/v- 


'v 

'■m' 


r. 



■\ i 


\ 







r^- 




^ ^ 

r- 






iCA^>\ *7 


•- 


» 


If** 


• 1 


k V 




» -' 'I 


'A 


•( 




/> • 


. ' • • . 


N. 


-*.• * 




I « 


v' 


•7^v,W3 


■ -.r* 


-• - ■>. : .;: i/v; ,.. ,. . •■> 





. 4 




■ ^ .‘7 

• » * I f 





- 


, • ■ 

♦ 


• • • «•' •. .* 
' ■•# lb ' .• 


’)* * 


•.•:i - 


. ^ 
•/ 


/ 





t ( 








4 r 


*• V 



. t 


. 


r* 


>’,i 




» V 


> • « 

< 4 


* 


.■ V 


1 1 


* 




* 



I 



■4 



; ? 


/ 

^ Al 




f 




j 


\ I 


> 


» 



I • • 


r 


'. J 4 


S’ 




■ r* . ^ 

* > r^*- ) • V 


* "‘1 w » * *t 


f 



t 









i 


I 


f 



« 

% 



« 


w* 


#• 

4 , 




It 

i 


I 





« 



\ 


r 
















/» 


*• 4 


9 

V 



■ */• 





. '•> ... ' • 


- " ' **" *■" ‘ '-Kw 

.2^ T '■■ 




* 

^ '4v> .4 ;Mit\'i iTi^ 





* / T ■ . , r * .' . - .i . • » 

•4W T- >• • • » • . 


» * ♦ 
f 


. % ^ 

* •v .V > 



/.. . 


. I 


>** ' ’ j '. 
'• •.. . 
*K . <» T* 


'i 

\» . y * ‘ ,' 


# 


P - ' 

f i' :. 


v< 

V '•< >'- mS *• •( 

V'r.y.ljT^'ai 'J 

' « I . ^ 


’, r . %■ 


y- 


V/. 


\ --i , 

/ 


ii; 






t , 


V 









✓ 

• 4 . 

» t 


I*' • . • 


'X 


4 •* ««• i* 


^ -ff 


• « 


t$ 


.•>/,. .1, ,'. 


K -■'>" 

^7 ■ 


C‘f’:> 


V • 

•« • o . 




Vv 

fc- * 

L '■ I' ■ 


V ^ i 




» N 

A , 


/ y 


* 


« » 


r A •; 


> * 
« 


t . 


V*' 


y, 


T 

% 

\ 


r. 




^'i 




I » 


». I 
>* 


:» » / 
I . 


c' 

A '* 

r>v / • 




• i 


' ri ‘ .’ V 


ly 






1^ '• ’ ^ *^1 ■ 

r 4 V 





^ » 


r^y 


t 

ft 


r- 


JT 


Jl 

I A 


y 



« 9 . 




if' * 


■\' r* 


'?S. 


> s 




. » 


;y.V>'V i JTt.'d 


.:^t‘ 

I4 




• 1 









# 

'■ V 


;«->^r 


'f.: 


f. 









• ’ . . % , 'U- 


* \* 

« 




i\>f' 1 


<'t * 


• i 



- * • 


j> •-. •*; • , 


>r X 


; f 






fi ^ ’ 

‘ ,Ny 

— ? ^ /A * 

^ V<v' . 
> f 


.A 


I 


.^t • 


- 1 . 


• * 


•'* ♦ 


^ t. 

; f?’* i /- ‘ 


i ' 




/ » 




t / 


■52.'.' 




*# 


.r * 


* ■{# 


* • 


% . 


. » ^ I 


‘i * 

f 3 


.i 


>• 


j*. ®» , • *\* • . ^. 

' . • » v%... . 

^ ^ 4l ^ ^ 


. ' * . r V • 

!• '• , .* t V- ti -»r» -•“ 

MEWMSr/'X^ - '■■»> " 

,v. 


• 


A I* # • . 

■ V >. . 


4 *i 




I 






A\ 

• I 




1 # 




♦ w 




I 


1 


J . 


. r 




c I 


. . / 




Ik: 




.i•^ 

t 


& 


» ^ 


# • 


w ^ t 

r •<; p:V-'- 




# f> 
« 

I 

» 



. « 




» 

. .o 

4 .A 


'' r 


< . 


» » 
% 


/ 


y, ' \ ' 






y'Cf^: 

r* .» 

> • 


1^* 

• • 


K ' 

» # ^ .4“ • 

i • . . 


!• 


t ^ 


. ^ f'i 



P •• *'47 • 


w V 

«• 


% 


1 J 

:. • r •■ 



>* .% 




^ tm.-y 

y - 




• V 


*♦ 


tv 


■■.'i jfj'r 


i * 

V 




j . 


^ » 


< « 





i 


J • 


4» 


A •>, 






r\ 

•> 




w 

o 


• ^ ' 


*. »r*r, 


’• ym 

f ^ *' 1 


4 

> s 


1 «•- 



Vr» 


*'■’ ' /•' 

• ■ ; X ^ ‘ ' 

'*•. f 


' ‘:Y v-r 

I I « 


• »•, ■ ( • . . i ■• ,%A 


' C - ,* ' 

. r ' 


1 


I > 


K*. 1^"* < *'*>A*^ *■.' *.>•< 

V • " i 4 1' ' ^ ' *’ % V / 

C> -7' •. * ' • S 

*' 7 kJ '• '*.1 •, \v^ 7 ' '• ’- • V 

li^»V \ ■ -T . . .< 



. • ^ . • 

' '. .V’ ^ ■ , 


I' "•!'’■■; rj - " 


• . . , .* I . ^ 


»• 


V'Off 

1 

,1 


• 4 

✓ 




.S M 


1 • •'JT ^ ' 

s'' 


^ ' ' ^ - iS‘. r ' . 

•V . • , *v; 

‘ ^ - ,’ls # , ► '^^ 

.2 • '-• -s -■ ’ '* • '■ W ■ 


• 'T . 


vv;- 


im; . 


• r 


% • 


. > * ' •. 

'. ■• ; ,f * 


# ■» 


. ’<■ • '.' ’ik- 

',Vs^. . ' ; s: 

’-W’ 

• - , 




V- • 


• • 

» « 

M 


•>\: 
s.;. i 


V 


I 


I . 


% 

• h 

-i- 

• ’V . . '. > 


• ^ 
^ . 


-“** •> -' ' '* • W J*' 


t » 


4* 

» • 


l_ , ^ A • ^ • 

^•' 5 ^ ,.>>'■ -Tip - 

.>■•/■■ t - ■ 





4 V . ^ * W * 

v' ■ ' 


9 

4 « 

•f 


y- . .- 

" . '• ^ - i- * 

V'-. 


f' J 


' 5 


♦ 


I • 




^ ^ f . 

i . I 4« • . 














